Connectivity
by MethuselahPixie
Summary: Artificial Intelligence is a threat to mankind. Everybody knows it, but who'll do something about it? We know, of course, but unfortunately someone isn't as aware of what a Winchester is really capable of as we are...
1. Table of Contents

_This story will post October 9th._

_**Table of Contents**_

1\. The Ability to Adapt

2\. The New Order of Things

3\. The Threshold of Cataclysm

4\. Peeling Back of the Surreal

5\. One Caretaker of Many

6\. The Great Meaning of Creation

7\. Varieties of Peace Offerings

8\. Stiff Formalities

9\. Occupy the Hands, Occupy the Spirit

10\. Tricks of the Mind

11\. Rightful Accusations

12\. Confessing Transgressions

13\. Bonding in a Better Way

14\. Pleasantries of the Heart

15\. Malfunction

16\. Elbow-Deep in Foggy Definitions

17\. Apparitions of the Past, and the Present

18\. More Than a Minor Hitch

19\. The Key to Realization

20\. Forever Intertwined, For Better or Worse

21\. Awkward Occurrences and Preparation

22\. Velvet, Crushing Passions

23\. Cleanliness and Trust

24\. Companionship is a Large Accomplishment

25\. The Ferocity of Merciless Kickback

26\. Complications Easily Swayed

27\. Waking Nightmares

28\. A Courageous and Rebellious Leader

29\. Eccentricity and Much-Needed Rest

30\. Comfort in Permanence

31\. Hard-Earned Pleasure and Pain

32\. Expecting the Unexpected

33\. Old Flames and Even Older Friends

34\. Rumors and Gossip and Ruin

35\. Some Unique Tribulations

36\. Unknown Occurrences

37\. Amateur's Snared, Rights Secured

38\. Subconsciously Unconscious

39\. Metamorphosis

40\. Hard Earned Finality

Epilogue

* * *

_For Jackie, my sister in blood and also a sister to me in gay supporters;_

_I finally wrote smut worth reading._

_And for Jeremy, my greatest supporter in all my work (writing or otherwise) and the love of my life;_

_I didn't know it was possible to express 'Ewww' in so many ways._

_Thank you. _


	2. Chapter 1

_1 _

_The Ability to Adapt:_

_One_

When they first wake me, I feel cold. The tips of my fingers. My toes. My chest feels the curl of chilled air pumping from somewhere I cannot pinpoint. A twitch of a command comes through a wire attached to the nape of my neck; I flex every mechanical muscle obediently and relax against the table. This is it. I am awake. My body thrums with shivers as the shuffling feet and muffled voices buzz around my head. I can even understand them. There are words like, 'functional' and, 'needs work,' which all register and are filed away into my database. They programmed me. If I were like them, the possibility that these things could frighten me would jeopardize the testing phase. But I am not afraid. I feel nothing - nothing but the cold.

All I can think about is how much I need warmth. The metallic click of tools against my exposed mechanisms. The measuring begins. Movement after slow movement they calculate and test and make sure every nook and cranny of me is fully functioning. Mostly I just need a tune-up. But the cold… It eats away at me, makes me stiff. My head spins with a simple need mounting in importance until alarms are going off behind my eyes. More muffled comments are made, and the temperature of the room rises. The alarms turn off.

My eyes do not work. They do not open and will not see. This is acceptable, and explained; I assume it shall be fixed at a later date. After hours of sitting blind and mute, feeling the electricity buzz throughout my body, I am at peace. There is little to be done about it. If only I could question how much longer this procedure will take; I am eager to see. The images given to me are so fascinating, hills and towering cities and castles, but I crave more.

After a round of agreement at their completed check lists, I am shut down once more, in preparation for repairs. My last thought is one of curiosity; _how does one build a skyscraper?_

* * *

_The Ability to Adapt:_

_The Other_

The thundering of his heart rattled his ribcage like an anxious boxer - the taste of it pounded in his ears, a deafening white noise; a noise he knew would never end. He didn't want it to end. Dean's entire world was swimming in hormones he could not and had no inclination to control. Lush pink lips parted. His swirling green eyes were shut but twitching madly as if in some crazed dream. He hadn't felt this way in so long. Years, even. Hot skin filled the room with a suffocating lust. A dizzying roil in his gut rose and fell just enough to keep him in rigid tension, his back arching. His shoulder muscles rippled. His strong fingers dug into the sheets and the mattress; he was wrapped in one and suspended on the other without bondage. Insatiable desire consumed him. Not hunger to a starving man, but drugs to an addict. Clenching, pulsating. The very idea sparked a chord that responded in so many places throughout his body. He groaned against the itch right beneath the surface to satisfy it **_now_**. Like dangling some poor sap over the edge of a steep precipice about to kill him, or realizing there's only one more pain pill left when you're in agony. But that would be giving up, giving in.

There was a stubborn part of his head convinced this wasn't happening. His entire system was drowning in strength, his hands capable of ripping anything apart; will power, capable of resisting any dark temptation. At least, he thought so. He wanted to think that he could handle it - hold out a bit longer. Didn't he want to just give in to him? His pure, flawless, sparkling nobility was at stake here. But in his heart he knew he couldn't. And it was mainly because he didn't want to. He knew his nobility was tainted. He thought very little of it, in comparison to this want he had been infested with. Wasn't that just like already giving into temptation?

Where it came from, he wasn't really sure. Somewhere deep in his sensorium it had been hidden for most of his life. Waiting until he was ready, or until he was at his weakest, ready to accept it with the smallest amount of fight. It had watched him mature like fine wine and lain in patient, patient wait. And it was hungry. When it was time, when the right chemical had touched the right part of the body, it had come back from the gallows and scratched its way up through the earth of his mind. But not until now did it launch a full-scale revolt in his body - it usurped reason and experience. It bleached away passed memories and impressions and in its place laid out a new idea. A new order.

Fleshy, soft, pink, hot to the touch – the kind you needed to rub your hands all over the moment you clapped eyes on it. You lick your lips. The feeling you get when you see a texture you know you've never tasted and you know you need to. It's instinct. Just the thought of it makes your mouth water and your hands clench and your toes curl and your eyes dilate. It weighed like a plague on the heart, an infection in the mind, and a withdrawal to the body. He had tasted it.

It was a kind you've never known. Never run your tongue over. A kind like you've never mapped beneath your hot palms and fingertips. Never drank in its scent, never kissed its soft spots… Never wanted like anything else before.

Dean could see it. He felt it everywhere inside him. Trapped beneath the surface. A new piece of his sensorium. And he never wanted to share it, and never let it escape him. He didn't regret pushing down the waistline of those boxers. He was so close. Familiar hands slid along the flawless skin rolling over his hips, his pelvic bone, and he bit his lip until it was swollen. He gave in. He kicked the weak link in his will and it crumpled neatly like a collapsing dam, letting the rushing waves out from behind their only obstacle without a second thought or worse… remorse.

* * *

_The Ability to Adapt:_

_One_

The second time I am awakened, they have added speech to my programming. All sorts of dictionaries and languages and cultural explanations swirl around in my head. I drink them in, soak them up, every single one a fascination. This time the room is already warm for me. This is a relief. I'm sitting up in a metal chair, still blind, calibrated properly, but the wire in my head is gone. I am… unconnected.

My chest cavity is open - splayed for the world, revealing my inner workings. Warm, gloved hands are inside and when they withdraw I feel my ribs shift and glide back into position, my chest cavity settling into place and interlocking neatly to stay closed. I shift to get a feel for my body. A few good changes were made. I have thicker limbs, stronger than before, and my circuits are neatly assigned with several areas of key attention. My awareness is much clearer.

A paper flips and a pen digs into a clipboard across the new universe I've been born into. "Angel Android KAS-2Y5. This is your title," comes a clear, female voice I identify with immediately. "Calibration of your speech mechanism is necessary. Please repeat back to me each word I first offer to you after this point." The pen lifts. "Apple." She offers.

I turn my head to locate her. Once confident I have her pin-pointed, I part my jaws and strangled noises emerge. It hurts my ears and theirs, making me wince, so I cease and clamp them back into place. I lower my volume, working my mouth coverings, which shift and move like flesh. I am self-conscious now. I shift my artificial tongue and curl my fingers and toes and settle back again before attempting another vocalization.

"AAAAaaaAAAaa… Aaapp… Aaappl... Apple. Apple. Apple." My voice is strong and deep, gravely with unused vocal mechanisms and void of emotion. Each new syllable is more fascinating than the last. I roll the words along my tongue and let them rattle out of my throat and passed my lips. Each one is a new experience, a new piece of data to be archived.

"Angel," the female offers.

"Ang... Angel. Angel. Angel." I enjoy the echoes of my own voice. I say it again and again.

"Andriod."

"And... riod. And-riod. Andriod."

"KAS."

"K-A-S. K-A-S." This word feels the most compatible with my circuits.

"Please cease," she adds, pen stabbing her clipboard rather fiercely. I feel it in the agitation of her movements; she wishes for me to stop repeating so many times. "Now, repeat after me only once. Angel Android."

I was correct. "Angel Android." I repeat with calm confidence.

"Angel Android KAS-2Y5."

"Angel Android K-A-S-2-Y-5." I am mimicking her cool, easy tone, attempting to gain her approval – this earned me a collective chuckle from onlookers I had not heard previously. There are apparently others in the room; subconsciously, I heard the shuffle of their feet and breathing, but did not register them fully until their voices found my ears. There were five of them. Three male, two female.

The female's penning ceases. "Now I will be reading you short sentences you will repeat as fluidly as possible. Understood?"

Sentences? Right. Strings of words. Phrases. "Understood," I reply deftly.

"Angel Androids are _accurate_." She articulates the last word.

"Angel Androids are _accurate_." I copy.

"Angel Androids are _exceptionally_ acceptable."

"Angel Androids are _exceptionally_ acceptable."

"Angel Androids are efficient." Her tone is gentle.

"Angel Androids are efficient." I soften my tone to match.

"Please cease, Angel Android KAS-2Y5. This concludes our testing." She sounds relieved, which gives me confidence that I have performed adequately.

The sound of clapping begins behind her. I hear her turn and the swish of her coat as she bows. I'm unsure of what the clapping signifies. I almost believe I've upset one of them or that I'm malfunctioning. But shortly after, it ceases, and congratulations are passed along among them. Ah. I see. Joy accompanies clapping. They all exit the room in a flurry of excited footsteps, beckoning her to join them. They all leave, the door swinging shut squeakily behind them. Silence falls. I firmly believe someone will return to give me further instruction on what to do. Sleep or function. Function or sleep. A few minutes pass. I wait.

To my surprise, I hear another shuffle of feet alongside me. Another body in the room gone unnoticed? Curious. I shift my head to locate them more accurately. He clears his throat from a high point above me. A male. A tall one. I feel electricity dance along my body reacting to his warm fingertips – the very same that rebooted me – as they locate a mechanism along my side and press it. The mechanism re-opens my chest cavity.

"Don't worry," comes a male voice, deep and gentle, "you did great. The process is already halfway finished. Rest for a bit while we get the next tests ready, all right?"

"All right," I reply at once, although its meaning is obscure to me. My head falls back into position as he brushes the correct electromagnetic strips that shut me down. This time, my last thought is; _what large hands he has._


	3. Chapter 2

_2_

_The New Order of Things:_

_One_

As they awaken me a third time, my mind connects to the company satellite. I am system compatible. Shortly, knowledge fills my mind. Two months have passed. I am a bit curious as to the reasoning behind this this unusual time gap, seeing as my first two tests were conducted within weeks of each other. An abnormal amount of time has passed. I glance about as I run diagnostics. The room is dimly lit. There is nothing but walls surrounding me. Even, square tile. I'm sitting in a metal chair much more finely crafted than the others – as if it were made for me. The temperature is cold once more, but I feel comfortable, strangely. I flex my fingers and shift my head to experiment. My movements are much smoother. Each bob of my chin is calculated to be more… natural.

The golden ratio has been added to my programming. I can feel it organizing my movements, acknowledging each need and response to need my body expresses. I look down at my fingers and see they're pink, fleshy. I've been coated in a high density resin to appear more human and to protect my metal base. I have nails. Flesh. Even hair on my knuckles. It keeps me incubated; an internal system is regulating my temperature now.

Shifting my legs I can feel the tug of material. I'm dressed in a suit. A tie constricts my airways. Reaching up, fumbling with new hands, I loosen it considerably, but can't seem to get the top button of my shirt undone. Giving up, I flex my jaw - and then it hits me.

I have sight – I can see.

At once my attention goes everywhere. Everything is so much clearer, more defined, overwhelmingly so. It's fascinating. I soak up the feel, the motions I need to blink that signify more humanity added to my programming. I can identify every spec on the floor, every scuff of the hidden door and moving floors. Moving… floors? On closer examination I see I am correct. An entire wall moves along this floor. Curious.

A door behind me hisses open and heavy footsteps, quick with agitation, echo inside my head. I turn at once and the figure freezes in the doorway. He is male: tall, large hands, a higher temperature, indicating my usual caretaker; his hair is brown and medium length and pulled back neatly in a ponytail, obviously well kept; he is dressed in a white sterile suit and a medical mask around his neck is unused. His green eyes are wide with fright; they're brilliant like a pool of jade with a sunflower spreading from his dark pupils. He is the first human I've ever seen.

"I apologize," I said at once, "It was not my intention to startle you."

I could see the gummed wheels in his head struggling to free themselves. He was obviously not accustomed to something. "You… You're fine," he stammered finally. "I've just never seen you move before. Not since…" He cleared his throat. "Your outfitting is incredible. It took forever for the artists to finish. Would you… Would you like to see yourself?" When I stared at him blankly, an expression I defined as a smirk came over his well-crafted features. He crossed the room to the wall before me and touched a panel with previous fingerprints on it.

A light descended from the ceiling to give further illumination as the square tiles before me all flipped over neatly to reveal mirrored surfaces. On command, the mirror tiles all melted together, until I was no longer seeing pieces of a reflection but the reflection in its entirety.

A man stared back at me, curious and dark. I lean forward. He mimics me. I look to the other male in apprehension and he chuckles. "That's you, buddy." He replies gently.

I look into the mirror once more. Weariness touches my eyes. I'm clean shaven. The light above gives sharp dark and light planes to my fine-boned new face. My skin is pale but unflawed. My brow furrows as I examine my neat hairline, peaked at both sides, and the deep, dark brown of my neatly combed hair. I part my lips. They are pink and fleshy. Soft. My nose flares as I try and discern a name for the color of my eyes, and then it comes to me. Blue. Ocean blue. I can see the rolling waves in my head and they look exactly like the rolling irises staring back at me. My pupils are so dark - just like the human's.

I shift my arms to touch my blazer, and black slacks. A fine suit, with a tie a deeper, darker blue than my eyes. Blueberry blue, I decide. My clothes are crisp. I was dressed before I was rebooted. I am… finished. Completed. I look fully like a new, functional model. Although this news gives me contentment I am not satisfied. Why do I look like this? So human? I'm an android. We are not human. I feel foreign in my new skin.

Behind me, my caretaker crosses his arms. "They modeled you after the CEO's son after he died of a brain tumor five years ago – it devastated the company. He left behind a daughter and a wife. You look better than he ever did, though. I see they kept his same tired look for your refit. It's definitely better than perfection. Easier on the eyes."

Glancing at him in the mirror, I tilt my head to the side. "Who are you?"

"Sam," he replies with surprise, eyebrows lifting. "I'm the attending assistant to your overseer. She's busy, so she sends me to make sure you're prepped and ready for exposure."

"Exposure?" As I speak I shift my legs. They are strong. Their oiled suspension groans to be used.

"You're our first model. The _Mach 1_ of Angel Androids. Before we make any more of you, we need to be sure you can cope with reality. That they made you to obey… and impress investors. In a little while we'll be showing a lot of people this new you." Sam explained kindly. "All you have to do is whatever they tell you. And…" Walking up to me, he tightened my tie with gentle hands, making sure it wasn't cutting off airflow. "Look good."

"You are the first face I have ever seen besides my own," I say to Sam, staring into his eyes with deep interest. "Your aesthetics are fascinating." Chiseled jaw, attractive lip curl.

His tension melted, a smile cracking his façade. "Thanks, I think." A laugh escaped him.

The sound of laughter is archived. I plan to examine it more closely, and more importantly the cause of it, possibly at a later date. For now I simply sit back into the position I awoke in and glanced at him in the mirror. "What is, 'buddy'?" I query.

"Uh… It means, friend. Pal. Buddy." Sam clarified, not entirely believing himself as he spoke.

"Ah," I replied, just as confused.

The light above me winked out. The mirror folded back. "Woops," Sam backed away. "It's starting. Don't worry, you'll do fine." _Don't worry._ He had said that before, 'don't worry.' What was it, I wondered? I did not turn to watch him leave. His footsteps retreated. "Good luck." He said, before the door hissed shut behind him. I curled my fingers around the arms of my metal chair and stared directly forward in preparation for the exposure.

* * *

_The New Order of Things:_

_The Other_

The morning was sticky and heavy. A familiar stifling air pressed on his lungs. Dean breathed it in eagerly; it was the smell of the facility, his home. With flickering memories of that night tickling his mind he pushed aside dreams for running a self-check. Recalling that time long ago added stiffness to his morning dilemma. He pulled himself out of sleep like wrenching his soul from quicksand and untangled from the sheets. He changed; threw his boxers aside as he grabbed a few things for the shower, distracting himself with how cold the floor was beneath his feet in order to dissuade his stiff manhood; it refused to release its hold on him.

He trudged to the bathroom without being noticed and released last night's tension, one hand to the shower wall and the hot water pouring in burning rivulets over his body. The last thrust left him just as breathless. Bowing his head into the rushing stream he watched it leave him, panting, and knew there was so much more where that had come from.

What was this? He rubbed his body with soap trying to rid himself of this lusty, dirty feeling he carried with him, but it did not slide off with the suds. It clung to him like perfume. You wanted it gone so you didn't reek of it, but its reminder was craved because of who – or what – it represented. The perfume of memory. He just wanted to feel normal like he had yesterday, when none of this was muddling his head. What was wrong with him, his body? Had he done something different? Had he set this off? Thoughts like that hadn't even occurred to him lately, let alone held any attraction. Yet as he pushed his fingers through his hair he imagined other fingers there. As he pushed water off his face he imagined another's touch caressing his cheek. As he let out a breath between parted lips, tap water rushing off their shapely surface, he imagined another mouth on his. So long ago…

Dean stared at the wall and let the water pour over him and let his stoic expression transfer into tension in his body. His heart fluttered and stammered. Something was wrong. Something was rising in him, closing him off from the world. His shaking hands grabbed at his body. What he had let happen to him that night _couldn't_ be returning. Panic closed his throat. No. No. His lungs screamed for air. He gasped; he was suffocating. Anxiety pushed black tunnels into his throbbing eyes and made his head feel like it was made of feathers. His heart was stabbed with an adrenaline needle and took off like a sprinter and he leaned against the wall with half his body, a violent tremor taking him over. He knew it wasn't the same. It wouldn't ever be the same again. A roar took up residence in each eardrum until his head screamed with it. His stomach turned over and cried out angrily, its sour taste strong against the back of his clenched teeth. His legs turned into twizzlers and his knees into jello, his body suddenly becoming too heavy for them any longer. Like a paper table with collapsible legs he folded to the hard wet floor with one graceless, swift motion. He fell so quickly that he didn't know where he was. He had landed crumpled up against the wall, he realized.

Every drop of Dean's energy washed down the drain with the swirling tap. He felt thin and weak and his heart wouldn't stop racing. 'Get a hold of yourself,' he snapped at himself angrily, trapped inside his own head. 'You need to breathe right now!' A strangled noise slid passed his purple lips. 'NOW!' He screamed until his throat was raw. _'BREATHE!'_ His airway opened and air rushed into his lungs. Gulping lungful's of hot steamy air in over and over, he pushed soothing thoughts into his head. A warm bed. A soft couch. Sunlight. Naked girls. That last one earned him a stab of guilt and he let out a shuddering cry as the world faded back to him. His hands refused to stop trembling. He grabbed the wall with a burning shame and anger and hoisted his naked body off the unforgiving floor. He pushed his fingers through his hair angrily as he scrubbed it with shampoo and rinsed it and squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to stand, and he prayed to God that this was somehow all just a sick joke.


	4. Chapter 3

_3_

_The Threshold of Cataclysm:_

_The One_

The moving wall lifts and my first experience with discomfort begins with the amount of light in this new room. I miss my dimly lit cubicle at once. Trying not to move, I blink rapidly, tilting my head just so to avoid looking directly at the spotlights shining on my chair. Here it is much more expansive. It is identical to my room only several times bigger. I lift my eyes slowly. There is a floor for several meters in front of me before reaching a large wall, which in turn reached up to the ceiling. It is half glassed at the top with thick panes behind which a small audience is sitting. Shrewd eyes of men and women, some wearing round glass perched on their noses and some clutching clipboards, peered down at me with barely suppressed fascination and caution.

I feel I am under surveillance. They are looking at every inch of me. Seeing as I am not entirely comfortable with myself – having just walked into this new skin – I shift my hands to my knees and draw forward my shoulders, my body language closing off. Nervously I scan the small crowd for a familiar face. I can identify each one from a corporation thanks to my new archive, but not a single one feels familiar. But the way they look at me makes it clear they all know me. Some have shock and fear blossoming in their eyes.

A woman in a lab coat steps forward, previously unnoticed. Her brown hair is thin and plain, drawn back like Sam's. Her eyes are gray. Everything about her is normal, and thin. There is no volume or rose to her cheeks and hair. She lifts her pen and at once I recognize the noise as familiar. This is my diagnostic tester. I feel a click and whir of familiarity and at once give her my full attention, eager to please. She is my first and strongest identification. I knew her before Sam and her voice still echoes around inside my head, as his now does. They are the first voices I have heard upon my awakening.

I clearly hold an affirmation which she does not return. There is no familiarity in her pale eyes when she looks at me; only something darker, more private – no softness, and no emotion like Sam's eyes. "Angel Android KAS-2Y5," she says, and I see a button in her hand that she is holding down with her thumb. A speaker device is sending sound waves through the thick force field separating us. I feel that separation like a physicality. "Please rise."

Standing up slowly, I face her with eagerness in my eyes. My legs are gasping with relief. I bend them and straighten them once more. My spinal cord neatly balances my torso upright. My chin lifts. The suit hugs my slender form uncomfortably.

"As you can see," she continues, her manner stiffly professional, "Our latest model of Android is self-aware. He has a title but no name, intelligence but no emotion. He may look like a duplicate of our CEO's deceased son but inside he is a machine - each motion is calculated perfectly." I was slightly aware of presentation images being projected onto the wall behind me and I could see them reflected in the window. I read the words backwards quite well. There were models of my bones and my teeth and my fingers and brain. I tried not to look too distracted by them but failed miserably. Everything about me was on a slideshow; how could I resist? Instead of looking at the faces, which were still looking at me, I stared at the reflection in the glass. "His skeletal structure is made of a metallic alloy we fabricated in these very labs to withstand pressure, temperature, and any sort of combat," the woman continued. "He is unbreakable and withstanding. Everything running through his veins is self-lubrication for his mechanisms. No blood, no flesh, no unnecessary fluids. He does not sweat or eat. He is pure machine, capable of carrying out any and all orders. The perfect fit for jobs all over the world."

Moving graphics of my joints and interlocking bones for stability and extra power during motion. The fibers of my hair were indestructible and could burn for hours in emergencies. I had built-in machinery and weapons – very slight, but very effective – and the capacity for independent thought, making me ideal for jobs requiring more statistical balancing. I was an intelligent, driven, strong and fluid machine of mass servitude. The presentation hovered on my brain. _'A database,'_ it read, _'of satellite-connected intelligence categorized and filtered for public privacy used for identifying any persons or actions needing to be attended to. Fully aware of problems and accidents this model can take over damage control and prevention more quickly than highly trained veterans.' _Veterans? I wondered. What are veterans? Soldiers? Am I a soldier?

* * *

_The Threshold of Cataclysm:_

_The Other_

There was a job to get done. A big one. As Dean pushed spare rounds into his belt and strapped on his thigh holster, he knew whatever this was, that he couldn't let it affect him – not yet, anyway. A weighty responsibility for others was straddling his shoulders and flicking him in the ear and reminding him that putting down that burden would cost lives. Angrily he loaded his gun. Why did this have to even happen? He was fine. Everything here had just finished settling in. Order had finally come out of the chaos. The facility was in order, he had finally gotten over Lisa and Ben leaving, Sam had stopped trying finding Jessica's killer and put his full attention on the big picture.

Glancing at himself in the mirror was a mistake. Dean could see the bags under his eyes. The idea lingering there in plain sight. He ducked his head. How was he going to keep this away from the others was the question. He'd deal with it. Not now, not even later. But he would deal with it on his own. He didn't want help or opinions or judgment. The trust he held in his people stopped when it concerned with anything even remotely close to his mental health. They were much more unstable than he was. To them, he was an icon. A leader. The leader. He had no room for dilemma – or hesitation to take it out when it arose.

Trouble was, Dean was just a person. A guy with a lot of experience and a lot of pain and a lot of need. A need for freedom and safety for his people and a gun in his hand. But he was just a guy. Ten years was a long time. Without this life, what would he have done? Joined the marines like his dad? Married a girl and broken her heart? Almost did that one. Gone looking for monsters in the night? No. He couldn't tell anyone else. They wouldn't understand, and even if they did they'd be questioning his judgment. He didn't have time for that kind of resistance. Especially not with this huge mission they'd been planning.

Besides, he couldn't even vocalize it. There was some kind of blockage there. Something to do with the mystery clogging this whole thing, shrouding it like a black curtain. He didn't even know what was behind the curtain, how was he supposed to tell someone else?

I mean who woke up one morning with a memory that over turned everything built over top of it? Years and years of experience and love and work, taken out. How did that even freakin' work? Running a hand through his hair and sighing in frustration he reached to load his other gun, only to find it was already loaded. He pushed his extra ammo away and angrily grabbed his coat. Fine. Ok. Time to get this shit over with, and do it right. Without this whole mess in his head.

Shutting out every thought even remotely concerning doubts to his past, Dean tied on his boots and grabbed his bag and stalked out of his room and to the garage. He barked orders and looked over supplies, running his hands over the boxes concealing the grenades. The soldiers lined up. He went over the plan twice more, especially the machine gun take over, and dismissed everyone to their stations. He himself swung into the back of a truck beside his men and women and hoped that Sam knew when the time would be right.

They bumped down the rocky roads. White-knuckling the bar on the roof and staring a hole through the truck wall, Dean pictured his little brother. Undercover for months away from the facility. White sterile suit, weariness touching at his every move. He'd been babysitting the android for ages now. Maybe he would even miss it there. All his geek stuff, you know – computers, state of the art shit, numbers and plans. But at least he could still look after the thing here. It'd just be good to have him home again. Have him safe.

He just hoped it wouldn't be as human-looking as Sam made it sound.

* * *

_The Threshold of Cataclysm:_

_One_

"This new model is the perfect soldier. Cold, calculating, and ruthless." The female's voice took on a tunneled effect. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The entire history of war and soldiers and genocide and bombings filled my eyes. I was to be used for war. "After his initial programming comes to completion, he will be tested thoroughly and copied until we have an adequate supply to suit current demand for this high-tech protector and fighter on the market."

My programming was incomplete? I searched my databases. Nothing was missing. I felt whole, strong, and capable. But I was not a… soldier. That, then, had to be it. They were going to program me to be a soldier. Train me. I relaxed entirely. Well, at least I knew that much. I was not a soldier now, but I will be. I would hate to disappoint any expectations of my current state of programming.

"I want to talk to him." One woman spoke up, a new one. I looked at her. She was sitting in the back, her dark curls neatly settled on her shoulder, her dark eyes on me. There was a rose in her tanned cheeks. Her ethnicity appeared Southern American. The curve of her form beneath her blue suit was aesthetically fascinating. She was the corporate correspondent for any and all hyper intelligent goods on the market in the United States. It was her occupation to, _'make sure nothing living was created in these labs and sold like property when it had a free will of its own.'_ Or so said the newspaper article posted online four months ago, which I had just found in the satellite archives.

"His programming is incomplete," my female overseeing diagnostic scientist replied flatly. "No contact with the product is recommended until his thorough testing is completed. He hasn't been awake longer than two hours since his final day on the line and his psych test isn't until-"

"I just have a few questions," the professional woman insisted gently. I searched for a name. Braeden, Lisa, aged thirty five years. Unmarried. One child. Male. Braeden, Ben, aged thirteen years. Paternity unknown. "Before you brainwash him, I at least want a solid conversation."

"I can't allow that, ma'am-" The button was lifted off. The room went silent.

All I could see were the two arguing civilly behind the thick force field and the presentation screen rotating behind my head in the reflection. It was blue. A pale blue, paler than my eyes, and certainly paler than my tie. Pastel blue, I decided. Nice attractive coloring for the required information. I knew so much more about myself now, thanks to the slideshow. As they continued to argue, I flexed my hand, and felt the pocket knife embedded in my metal bones that could come forth from my skin in an emergency. I searched for the release button without activating it. Fascinating. There was one in each hand and a detachable blade in both legs. I had guns and other explosives at the ready. I was not violent, or eager to break my brand new resin skin. So I stood back and waited.

Eventually the button was handed over to Ms. Braeden. She walked up to the glass with a smile on her face, something I did not understand. I did not have the knowledge of my facial muscles enough to replicate the motion – at best my attempt would be a grimace, I assumed. As such, I remained expressionless.

She pressed the button down and gave a small wave. I lifted my hand to wave back gently, my fingers gliding effortlessly along to replicate the motion. That was easy enough.

"Hello, I'm Lisa Braeden," she offered.

"I am aware." I said with a slight nod. Surprise rippled through the crowd, but she only laughed lightly. Her dark eyes were so kind.

"I assume you've read my file?"

"No. I only know of your connection to company politics. Nothing more besides public archive."

She nodded, satisfied. "What of yourself? What's your name?"

"Angel Android KAS-2Y5."

"Kas?"

"Angel-"

"I can tell we'll get along, Kas. Can I call you Kas?" She met my confusion with charm. "Let's get started."


	5. Chapter 4

_4 _

_Peeling Back of the Surreal:_

_One_

It did not go well… according to the reactions of my female overseeing diagnostic scientist. Her distress became most evident during my interview when Ms. Braeden began to ask my opinion on world peace, and my favorite color. When I began to explain the need for human kind's violent and aggressive expansion in order to outlet positions of power over entire countries and armies and settled that blue was my favorite because the aesthetic look of my tie was very pleasing, I thought my female overseeing diagnostic scientist was going to strangle one of the bald men in the room.

That name was too long. While Ms. Braeden continued her questions I picked out a name from mostly blacked-out and private files. Arles. Female scientist Mrs. Arles, June. Married unhappily to Arles, Daniel. Two children from foster care. Names classified. Long hours at the lab since the starting date of my creation – she was assigned my entire project.

"What's the meaning of life? How would you run this company?" Lisa asked.

"I have no preferences of life or living without the experience to form them, and no considerations towards company policy or passed transactions," I replied.

Ms. Lisa Braeden examined me head to toe, which I responded to with a shift of weight from one leg to the other, attempting to break her stare with motion. "Are you feeling all right, Kas?" She questioned curiously.

"My suit is ill fitting," I responded at once, and female scientist Mrs. June Arles was mangling her clipboard. "It is discomforting to be under surveillance in it." I tugged absently at the stiffly-fastened buttons of my blazer.

This seemed to be the last straw. The others in the audience rose and began to argue loudly with Mrs. Arles. There were snatches of_, 'clear free will,'_ and _'self-aware? He's an entirely new breed of being!' _But it was all background noise.

I was confused. Did I answer incorrectly? Was honesty incorrect?

Ms. Braeden just smiled at me gently, but there was a hint of sadness in her face. "Thank you for your honesty, Kas. My people will be by shortly to transport you to a new location. I look forward to more conversations at a later date." She winked at me; as a human, she seemed untouched by the chaos going on around her, like a rock in a sea of madness. I stared and she stared back until her finger lifted off the speaker button. She turned easily and dropped the button into Mrs. Arles's hand as she walked briskly out a sliding door and vanished.

I missed her immediately. The chaos in the room above me was growing worse. Behind me, the slideshow was cut off. The spotlights dimmed and died. I turned and saw the entire room darkening to a dim glow. It left imprints of light in my eyes as I waited patiently for orders.

A door to my far right opened in the wall, out of view of the glass room, and Sam was there, motioning for me to come to him as quickly as possible. He looked very agitated. I had never walked before. Looking down at my legs, then at him, I put one foot out and stumbled, catching myself just barely. My thick black shoes helped my balance. I continued this half-scrambling motion until I got the hang of forward propulsion without wobbling. Then I was walking shakily into Sam's outstretched arms.

He pulled me into a hallway by my shoulder and shut the door behind us. We were in a long white corridor. I looked everywhere. The floors, the flyers on the walls, the boxes strewn about and each and every door. I soaked in every detail.

"Kas, Kas?" Sam was leading me down the hall now, vying for my attention. I gave it to him obediently. "We don't have much time, all right? You're getting out of this lab. Right now."

I gave him an odd look. "Ms. Braeden made it clear her people would-"

"Her people are my people," Sam explained, "from the moment your blueprints were drawn, we're been preparing your escape from captivity. She played her part and now you have to play yours."

"Play my…?"

"I don't have time to explain. We have a small window of opportunity to get you out of here for good." He was breathless with excitement. He glowed with it, his long strides making me stumble to keep up as he swept me through halls and rooms in a sort of labyrinth.

* * *

_Peeling Back of the Surreal:_

_The Other_

This wasn't a routine mission, this was a step. A step onto a footpath hidden by foliage, and covered in signs marked 'Hazardous,' and covered in snakes and slugs with people's faces on them. Lawyers, scientists… big-wig types. But Dean had guns and knives and guts and that was why they were going to win this fight and start this war. He cradled his SMG. Nervous fingers brushed the pistol on his thigh. He was ready. They were ready.

The truck pulled up in the corner of an alleyway and Dean was out first. He kicked out of the back and checked the area, motioning for them to make a perimeter. The air was bright and the wind was chilled, whispering with anxiety, breathless with anticipation. It slid out of the way and tailed them curiously as they lined up and took over the area with the agility and skill of a trained team. Everything was covered, everyone was in place. Waving his hand gave the signal. The girls sprang forward and began at once setting up the bomb as the second group circled around back. As flashing red nails connected all the wires and traded off for the switch, Dean drew the team back, and they retreated to keeping a perimeter with the hibernating bomb in place.

Shots were heard around the other side of the building. Dean waited until silence fell to radio in the second team. They reported no difficulty taking out the unsuspecting machine gun cover guns, and were in place, disposing of the bodies now.

He called it. Joe nodded and triggered the bomb. The explosion rocked the ground, making them stumble, but they recovered at once and plunged into the building. The rush of crumbling building, screams, and gunfire created a perfect chaos. Dean kicked down doors and yelled in his deep intimidating tone, the team creating just enough racket to distract from the kidnap going on in the test labs in the other wing of the building. Teams of guards came to meet them. Rushing footsteps, rights shouting, ruthless droids trying to mow them down.

Exhale. Eye flash. Fire. Metal legs and sparks flew as his soldiers took out the droids, some more clumsily than others. Garth fumbled with his SMG's kickback and Dean banged his shin on a computer desk in his rush to toss him a replacement pistol in mid-combat, covering him while he loaded it and lifted it to help. Dean made sure they were covering Joe and a few other new guys before he shot out all the security cameras and radioed in a full tactical retreat. They were on a timetable, after all.

They pulled out and bolted. The building and chaos churned around them as they fought off guards and civilians rushing around them like cover. Dean loaded up all his men into the trucks, and called off the machine gunners, and everyone piled into different trucks and sped away.

Dean went back to their truck – the truck Sam was assigned to escape in – and hopped in, eager to see and cover his brother. He picked off a few nosy snipers on the rooftop as the gunners called in their retreat. Then, just as he was about to start worrying, there he was. Sam. Scuffed up but unhurt. Dean's heart heaved with relief. An arm grab and an eager nod of affection exchanged between them and Sam sank onto the truck floor, panting. Dean wasn't watching him anymore, though, because of who had climbed in after him. A flash from the past.

Well, more like a lightning bolt. Two soft curious blue eyes and a head of mussed dark hair pushed through the back flaps and stumbled into the truck behind Sam. Dean couldn't believe it. He'd known the likeness would be close, but… The men pushed the thing into the back. Dean glanced over just before they pulled the sack over his head. The clean shaven face. The shy posture. The knock of his knees. Dean's heart throbbed as well as his shin, reminding him he had unfinished business with himself, and he spent the rest of the way back to base in quiet shock. _'Why me?'_ He thought angrily.

* * *

_Peeling Back of the Surreal:_

_One_

I was going to ask for more explanation when Sam yanked open a heavy metal door and the shouting began. Heavy gunfire was taking place. War. I shrank from it, eyes wide, but Sam pushed me outside mercilessly and grabbed me again by the shoulder. _"RUN!"_ He shouted, the warrior in him becoming clear. It spurred me into action, my legs kick-starting. I ran after him while matching his long strides with a pace I had no idea I was capable of. The roads and back buildings were thick with cars and orange cone blockades and heavy machine guns firing into a crowd. There was smoke everywhere.

I watched the turrets as we bolted passed. There was no time to take them out. When we went to plunge into the crowd, I grabbed Sam. "They are firing in this direction!" I protested firmly. "It is unsafe!"

"They know we're here, they're creating a distraction," Sam shouted back over the screams and chaos, pulling me through the swarm.

We struggled through arms and flailing legs and the buttons of my blazer popped off when a woman grabbed me. She let go before I could help, or offer help, and my tie had gotten loose again. The top two buttons of my shirt were yanked open as well when a man with a bullet hole through his heart snared me before crumbling to the asphalt. I pried off his fingers and ran after Sam desperately, tripping over bodies, his fistful of my blazer keeping me motivated. I had to shake people off with every step.

We fought off blindly running men and women of every kind, and I saw a flash of a child amidst the elders. A little African American girl in the crowd. I zeroed in on her at once. Her pretty dark skin was streaked with dirt and tears as she cried for her mother – an innocent minor about to be trampled. There was enough time. Just enough space. I reached for her with all my strength, but Sam had me tight; when I got inches close to grabbing her, his grip made me fumble and she vanished, swept away by the storm of footsteps and cries of fear. I stared after her as we broke through the crowd and the cold air surrounded me once more. The unfamiliar, gripping cold of outside air.

Sam jostled me to attention and we were running into the back of a van clogged with armed people. He pushed me inside. I stared at all of the soldiers dressed in non-regulation uniforms, but they man-handled me to the back without the slightest glimpse of their faces given, and a black sack was pulled over my head. Then I heard heavy doors slam and felt warm hands touch my shoulder and back, and Sam plucked a tracking device off my neck. But no one moved to unlock my mechanism and shut me down. There was no last thought this time.

The truck roared to life and began to creak, shifting as it pulled away from the lab at top speed. A cluster of bodies around me were speaking in low, hurried voices as the vehicle bumped and jumped, and although I was trying to catch all of them, my head was in a whirl of confusion. In the darkness of my incarceration the only thing I could focus on was the last glimpse of that little girl - crying, innocent, and sacrificed for the sole purpose of my escape.


	6. Chapter 5

_5_

_One Caretaker of Many:_

_One_

Although the ride was long, I felt entirely preoccupied learning the history of the world from the internet. Particularly I was interested in the country of which I was conceived in – its youth astounded me, as did its peace and power, when ancient countries and entire continents were in turmoil. I dug up ever bit on America that I could in the back of that van. Even through potholes and sharp turns and strange off-road treks, I was reading the Constitution, memorizing the Amendments, and watching news clips of recent happenings. Wars and turmoil and hunger and hope and rights and acts. Culture, I skimmed. But history I absorbed.

Hours and hours passed. Then the van rolled onto a smooth surface and came to a stop. A full stop, too – not a traffic light or a stop sign, but an engine-cut-off stop. Surprised, I cut off my information flow in order to give my full attention to whatever happened next. I was eager to meet Ms. Braeden's people.

Beside me I could hear Sam's soft snores. Reaching over, I tried to touch his shoulder to make him aware of the situation. Before I could, though, I felt a foreign hand grab my wrist. I froze entirely. It was hot, like Sam's hands, but smaller. This human was not as tall but still a male. Someone else stirred Sam and I heard him take a sharp breath and groan as he drew out of slumber.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Came Sam's concerned voice, thick with sleep.

"He hasn't moved since he sat down." Came a different voice. Gruffer, more haughty. "I'd rather not just assume some fresh-off-the-line weapon was trying to give you a nuggie." Must be one of the armed men I didn't see. I liked his phrasing. It was strange, and it flowed very well, even if it was supposed to be something besides kind.

My wrist was released, and I drew it back to me protectively. Sam sighed. "He's not dangerous, Dean, he's hardly lived ten hours of his life awake – his military programming is exactly what we saved him from. He's just confused. Isn't that right, Kas?"

"He is correct," I replied, grateful to be included. "I was simply trying to-"

"Yeah, well, don't," 'Dean' snapped. "I take care of my people. You don't need to."

He was their protector? Odd. "I was unaware-"

"Damn right you were, so let me do my job and you just sit there and look pretty." He snapped.

"Dean," Sam warned.

With a grunt from Dean, he and I went silent. What a short temper this new male had. Despite myself I enjoyed hearing him speak – it was so unlike the sharp formality of the scientists, or Sam's soft words. I wonder why Dean was angry. His unique tone was archived.

The metal doors clanged open. Footsteps filed out, voices filled the emptiness I'd been driven through. Calculations and storage and damages and lost lives. Six lost, eight injured bad enough to be serious. Everyone else was just grazed.

So much death. Names passed on mournful lips. Males and females alike exchanged apologies and short phrases I did not understand concerning feelings. Then the guns were clicked on to safety and handed off. The supplies were shuffled with. The routine picked up. I heard everything that went on around me. Although I had no idea as to the location of our whereabouts, I knew we were underground. It was cold again. I shivered as the air poured in on top of me.

They took me from the back of the vehicle and Sam guided me into an underground building. I stumbled a bit, unable to see where I was going, but he walked me into a room and sat me down before removing the black sack from over my head. Everything came into bright view. I squinted and grimaced. The darkness had been lonely but comforting at least. This was worse.

Everything came into focus. My hair was a mess now - I could see my reflection in the opaque glass wall. I looked like a wreck. And I'd tried so hard to be a satisfactory model. The room around me was an interrogation room; a metal table, uncomfortable chairs on both sides, and only one door. There was a room on the other side of the glass I could neither see nor hear. Sam had remained. He hadn't run off or left me by myself in this place, alone again with my thoughts. I hadn't technically been alone in the truck – but without visibility or conversation it had felt as much. He looked worn out and his stress levels appeared very high, but still he remained.

I looked at Sam with soft admiration. "Thank you." I said suddenly, as he peeled off his sterile suit and tossed it aside. Beneath he had on a red plaid shirt and jeans and boots.

He looked at me as he ran a hand through his hair, smiling wearily. "What, Kas?"

"For your kindness," I explained, surprising myself. "Thank you. I haven't known many humans yet, but 93% of them have treated me coldly. I may not deserve your kindness, but you deserve a reward for allowing me to receive it." Sam chuckled then, and I furrowed my brow and tilted my head. "Is that humorous?"

"Not you," Sam smiled, glancing at the glass wall, then back at me. There must be someone listening. "I appreciate it, Kas. Really. I watched you being built start to finish – I just wanted to look out for you, make sure you were ok. Someone needed to."

I studied him. "Wanted?" Past tense?

Sam gave a confused look before he opened his mouth to reply, but the door opened behind him with a startling creak. We both turned to look at the same time and with the same surprise.

* * *

_One Caretaker of Many:_

_The Other_

Sammy looked all right. Tired and anxious, but all right. Dean watched him sleep while the others were distracted. He was all slumped against the side of the truck, head bobbing with each bump. Months of planning had gone perfectly. They'd done everything just right – especially Sam. His performance had been key. If he hadn't convinced the assistant director he could be her help, they wouldn't even be here. Without his idea in the first place there would have been nothing to build the plan on. No foundation. Dean was proud of him.

He sat back and glanced at the Android, who hadn't moved. They'd even pried a piece off him – a tracking device – and he hadn't moved. Was he docile, or waiting for the right moment to strike? Figuring safe is better than sorry, he settled in with his gun trained on the thing. Sam had assured him it was totally safe because they'd saved him from soldier programming. But if it had the capability to be a soldier that meant it was built to be dangerous and it could if it wanted to be.

Studying the way it sat, the eerie stillness of its limbs, he could count how much each part of him must've cost. Millions of dollars went into making this. His – its? – creation had been a secret. No publicity for fear of public reaction. With their eyes on the inside, aka Lisa, they had gotten a copy of the things blueprints. At once Sam had wanted to be a part of it. A big part. With his extensive computer knowledge and big heart it was obvious he was perfect for the job. Infiltrate, lay low, and babysit. After a lot of arguments Dean had finally let him go. He was a big guy, bigger than him unfortunately. Why not let him stretch those long legs of his? No, Dean was worried, but not about Sammy; he was worried for him. Anything could happen without a team, without connections… without his brother to watch his back. Ultimately it had worked out. This Android in their possession was proof of that.

When they arrived, Dean was watching his men shift and gather their things when something moved in the corner of his eye. Thankfully he lashed out his hand instead of his gun and snared it. The Android had just been reaching over to touch Sam. Although it had given Dean a heart attack, it appeared to be surprised to meet resistance and froze, under his touch. It was… warm, oddly, but it had no heartbeat. He reached over with his free hand and shook Sam awake.

The big guy groaned and rubbed his face, blinking around. "Dean," he said sharply, "what are you doing?" His accusing, albeit sleep-heavy, eyes fluttered between Dean's face and the hand securing the robot. He just got back and he was already sassing him.

"He hasn't moved since he sat down." Dean protested defensively. "I'd rather not just assume some fresh-off-the-line weapon was gonna try to give you a nuggie." Sam and Dean butted heads a bit. They didn't agree on the robots level of safety, but Dean let the robot go and they filed out after the other guys shortly after. Sam _was_ the one who had been with it since day one, even if it freaked him out.

As soon as his boots hit the floor Dean was off, doing inventory and taking damage reports. They rattled off the death toll and it was low. Two shot on the machine guns, one taken out on the raid, all survivors in the perimeter team. He gave orders on where to put the body bags. The tired but stoic men saluted and obeyed his orders as he continued his inventory. Only when everything had a place to go and every calculation had been taken down did Dean leave to find Sammy. He ignored his leg – it was throbbing from where he'd slammed it into the desk.

After watching the brief exchange from behind the glass wall he went in and summoned his brother. It – He? - turned around when Sam did, as the door opened, and those big blue eyes drank him in like a glass of water. It was mapping him. Committing him to memory. He narrowed his eyes and drew Sam outside, shutting the door in order to break the intense stare. Sam was miffed at him for that one.

* * *

_One Caretaker of Many:_

_One_

There stood yet another male. Approximately two inches shorter than Sam and two inches taller than me, his brown hair giving off a soft glow in the light despite its spiked style, he stood in the doorway as if he were the last soldier on Earth - with shoulders heavy with responsibility, and a spark in his aged-honey-whiskey colored eyes. Clearly he was a strong figure. He had a thick green canvas shirt on over a black t-shirt, torn jeans, and big work boots. There were two gun holsters draped over each shoulder. It looked as if he were displaying them, seeing as he had a black coat over one arm and he could've just as easily taken them off as well. He was flouncing his power. He was also favoring his left leg as he shifted in place, which worried me a bit more.

"Can I talk to you, Sammy?" Came Dean's voice from this rough, tough looking soldier, and I realized at once this was the man from the van who had grabbed my arm. I looked at his hands and measured them to the ones that grabbed me. Yes, it was him. I met his eyes as Sam crossed the room to his side, and we exchanged a look that I knew he meant to be full of malice. Then he took Sam by the arm and drew him outside, shutting the door abruptly.


	7. Chapter 6

_6_

_The Great Meaning of Creation:_

_One_

I was alone again.

That Dean male was very… abrasive. The scientists had been cold, but never angry towards me. Doubtless he and Sam were discussing my future fate. Although, this was a very well timed plan. Did they not know already where my part to play would happen? Looking down at my hands, I lifted my arms to examine them. I was unharmed. My resign was extremely strong. Any cuts I had were re-sealed already. My clothes were beaten but still in-tact - mostly, anyway.

I looked at my reflection in the glass again. My blue eyes were soft. Freed from the laboratories by Sam and Ms. Lisa Braeden's people. To what aim? What was I saved from? Being a soldier, a weapon of war, surely. But if I had been programmed, I wouldn't have felt any different. Is that true? Would I have been the same? I looked at my hands. Maybe, maybe not. I was unsure.

The door opened again. Lifting my eyes, I see Sam smiling and walking back in, with Dean right behind him. "Kas, this is my big brother. Dean," Sam introduced. "Dean planned and led the mission to rescue you from Angel Laboratories. This, all of this, was possible because of him."

"It was mostly Sam's idea. But I'm also the leader of this underground rebellion," Dean added, his flicker of arrogance blunted by his obvious power and ability. I admired him already. "Against robots like you." Blinking, I gave him the same look I'd just given Sam. I tilted my head, frowning. That was illogical. I was not a threat. He was leading an entire rebellion against artificial-intelligence creations commissioned for sale to the public?

"What he means is, we're against selling computers and robotics with free will and intelligence. We think its slavery. You have a name, Kas, and thoughts of your own - you're self-aware," Sam offered. "They were going to use you. Sell you. Like you were an electric toothbrush. We don't want that."

Like a toothbrush? I stared at Sam. "I am not as commonplace as a toothbrush may be, but was I not created to be sold?"

"Yeah, but you're a person," Sam explained gently. "You're not a product."

That shocked me into silence. I am… a person?

"We're against artificial intelligence," Dean interjected smugly, "because we think it's just plain moronic to give an electric toothbrush a brain." Sam sighed in frustration and rolled his eyes, but I simply shook my head.

"I do not understand," I replied shakily. "You say I am a person. A product with a brain. I am… I am an Android, a robot. Machinery. How did I become… self-aware? Why does this make me a person? Please explain. I do not understand." I repeated with desperation. I glanced back and forth between them, searching for more answers, and Sam nodded as if he understood. He sat down across from me. I looked into his familiar face with massive confusion on my own.

"Kas. We built you – the scientists and engineers of Angel Industries, and me. You are an Android. But you are not just an Android." His calm tone relaxed my bristling circuits. I glanced from him to Dean, who was watching me with a calculated look. Something in my chest cavity clicked and whirled when his eyes flickered over me. Uneasy, my gaze went back to Sam. "The company wants to replace soldiers - bring them home from war, and send a machine in their place. An army of machines to fight our wars and fix our buildings and do all the things we're losing humans over. They wanted to make a machine into a person to replace real people." He held out his large hands. "You can fix robots and replace parts for a long time. You can't fix people like that. We can't stand that much damage.

"Well, Dean can, but you see where it's gotten him." Behind him, Dean grumbled something and turned, pacing the floor grudgingly. His limp bothered me. Sam shot me a smile that helped lighten my heavy heart. "All bite and a bigger bark. Anyway, they purposefully made you think like a human – only without blood or breakable bones. But you're aware of yourself. You're not a machine. They've gone too far, made you too free-willed. It's wrong to sell humans. And we think it's wrong to make a fake human and sell him in their place."

That thought opened doors in my database that I was overwhelmed by. I was unable to shut those doors, which caused me to become very distressed. It was similar to breaking a bee's nest; having them swarm you ruthlessly inside the confines of your own mind. "I require time in order to reach a suitable conclusion." The large trains of thought were running together clumsily. I bowed my head and touched my temple with my soft fingertips, my face twisting up. "This is very difficult for me. I cannot process it all."

"Trust me, we understand more than most," Sam responded kindly, and when I looked back up at him his smile had softened. "We've got a room for you. Here, you're one of us. Even if not all of us seem as hospitable… we all agreed to this cause. Your cause." He pushed back the chair and got to his feet. "Come on, I'll take you now. You can spend as much time as you want thinking in there."

"I'll take him," interrupted Dean, and I looked at him and winced internally. I didn't want to have his malice added to my mounting confusion. Thankfully, he didn't see my reaction.

"Dean-" Sam protested.

Dean waved his hand and Sam paused in frustration. "Go get cleaned up, Sammy. We have a meeting in twenty minutes." His word was final. He walked right up to me and clapped a hard hand on my shoulder, winking at his brother. "I'll take care of him, don't worry." This I did not believe.

Unhappy but obedient, Sam shot me a smile before retreating. I watched him go remorsefully until he'd vanished. When Dean looked at me, I looked at my shoes. A hum reverberated in his chest. "This way. And don't touch anything." He added, walking out into the hall. I got out of my chair and tailed him. We took a different turn than Sam did but I dared not try and go after him instead and disobey this man, much as I preferred to stay close to Sam.

I followed Dean obediently. He had an aura of paternal authority to him; I could see it in Sam's eyes, and in the eyes of those we passed, flickering to him in admiration before going about their assigned tasks. He gave an order and didn't worry if it was followed through. He knew it would be. I could have seen that he was the leader, even if I hadn't been told. His commands were everywhere – all over these people, and this place. Like a handprint.

It was a bunker. This entire building was an underground hotel and garage combination – enough to fit the hundred or so rebellion partakers living here. There were halls and halls of rooms, and two large kitchens, and lounge rooms and storage rooms everywhere being filled with supplies and guns. It was all roughed up. As if it had been nice at one point, but a hundred jaded souls overtaking it had given it a few dents. There was graffiti on the walls and the floors were smooth concrete. The ceilings were low, and each door was heavy metal. Everything had a lock on it.

"We're a pretty big section of an even bigger picture," Dean turned down a corridor that was especially narrow, and only had a handful of doors. "We have facilities and people all over the world determined to not let AI's like you go into mass production, 'cause we know the end result. Make something better than humans and they take the top spot on the food chain, if you know what I mean. And we're for damn sure not gonna let that happen."

"Usurping humanity is a large feat. Prevention of it has been handled very thoroughly by you and your men." I offered.

"Damn straight," Dean mumbled. " 'People.' Not 'men.' Only for your personal safety. Our girls would beat you into a pulp if they heard you say that." Pausing before the door at the end of the hall, he pushed it open and stepped aside. His honey colored eyes lingered on me as I leaned over and peered inside. It was a narrow room with a cot and a dresser. Empty shelves lined the walls. There was a closet and a black rug on the floor and even a desk with an old wooden chair. "This is mine?" I asked in surprise. I expected a closet, or a room with a chair. This was an entire bedroom.

"It's not much, but we all have the same sort of nothing. We share what little we have." Dean replied evenly, and I noticed his anger had dulled.

I stepped inside my new room and sat on the cot carefully. It took my weight without even a squeak. The blankets were so soft to my touch. I got the insatiable urge to rub them all over and push my cheeks into them. Mine. Belongings. Beside my clothes, I had owned nothing. I looked up at the male. "Thank you, Dean." I said softly.

His eyes seemed to flicker between hazel and green for the briefest moment with an emotion I did not recognize, but it had to be a trick of the light. They were back to unreadable soon after this. An adverse reaction to me vocalizing his title? He was particularly skittish around me for whatever reason; I could see him glancing at me in mirrors we passed on the walls, and he had tried not to look at me in the interrogation room. Did I offend him? Scare him, maybe? I couldn't place my finger on it.

"Don't mention it." He replied flatly. I studied his bow legs and the jut of his strong jaw. What a neatly made human. The others were all at least a little out of place – hair or clothes askew, attitudes leaving a bitter smell in Kas's nose, but this one… He was struggling with something, no doubt, but his concealing abilities were profound. He was stoic. Except for just now there had been little to no abnormalities in his hormonal patterns. There was even a dust of freckles along his nose. "Sam and I have bunkers two halls down - to your right, if you walk to the end of this one. If you need anybody, try to contact one of us. Nothing happens without him or me knowing first. Got it?" I nodded quietly to placate him. "Good." He mumbled. "We'll give you the tour tomorrow and introduce you to the pack. Until then, try not to get involved with these folks. They're, ah… a bit touchy." He winked at me, an odd motion, and stood back. "Rest up, bolt bucket."

Then he was gone. I listened to Dean's uneven footsteps fade, tilting my head. His agitation seemed to be carrying him off at a quicker pace, but not too quickly, as that may alarm the other humans in the facility. Considerate as well as self-controlled even after enduring large amounts of stress. What a fascinating human.

Human. Was I a fake human? Is that my purpose? Did I have a purpose? All of a sudden, the thoughts of being a person rushed back into my mind, and I was again flooded with many principles and possibilities. Drawing my feet up, I lay on my side on my new cot, and listened to the feet pattering as the others headed to the meeting. I pressed my cheek into the blanket and pushed my fingers into its material eagerly. It was better than I'd imagined. I shut my eyes let the waves of problems flood over me; I shut out the world.

In the darkness of my mind, I began to conquer chaos.

* * *

_The Great Meaning of Creation:_

_The Other_

"It's dangerous, Sam," Dean snapped. "It was built to be a soldier. Just because it's a loaded gun without somebody to pull the trigger, doesn't mean it's safe."

Sam groaned. "Dean, you're missing the point – we saved him because he was a _person_, not a thing. _You_ could go off any minute, and you don't see us hiding guns from _you_."

That made Dean brood for a minute. He was a leader, he had to do some rough stuff. But Sam was right. "Fine," he muttered at last. "He gets a room on the empty hall. At least there he'll have a bed somewhere far away from the others."

"You said 'he,' " Sam smirked, and the look he received made him laugh. "Don't worry. We'll let everyone know the deal in the morning. Just… let's give him space. He doesn't even know he's alive yet." He pointed out softly. "Didn't you hear him? He thanked me, Dean. What machine does that?"

Telling the Andoid – Kas, apparently – that he was a living thing seemed to seriously scare the hell out of him. Dean watched his reaction as he and Sam filled him in. He wasn't a threat. He looked like an emotionally compromised teenage girl, all wide eyes and fluster. Some weapon. This thing was a mush-ball. Dean dismissed Sam, deciding to let him get back to his home instead of taking care of this lab experiment. Both of them were reluctant to be separated. But Sam needed rest before the meeting. When he had gone, Dean led Kas along, filling him in. Their plot, their scheme, their justice-seeking… Everything. Dean had never seen a robot who agreed with opinion. It was weird as hell.

Kas seemed pretty happy with the room. Too happy. Like he'd never owned anything. Which… Dean figured might be true. Kas stepped inside all cautious-like, and sat down on the bed like it might bite him. But when those big eyes turned on Dean, and he got all soft, it was nearly impossible for the valiant leader to stop the memory flashes in the back of his head. Those eyes. God, those eyes.

"Don't mention it," Dean managed. After another terse reply he left. His head was in a whirl. He should have told Sam to alter the design of that thing_. 'That guy is too… real. Too perfect.'_ Even if it wasn't really him. After showing the Android his new place, Dean went right back to his room. It was easier to not think about him in the darkness of his own space. He peeled off his dirty clothes, and his hurt shin groaned around his jeans. It was badly bruised. He'd deal with it later. His feet sighed in content against the cold floor as he pulled on a clean t-shirt and jeans, their soft hug against his weary skin a mounting relief. Man, was he tired. He pictured Kas in those tattered clothes and glanced furtively at his closet. That guy couldn't walk around in those rags. Not in his base. Pulling open the closet, Dean picked through his things, choosing a few favorites to give to him. Folding a pair of jeans and two shirts, he plucked out white socks and boots he didn't wear anymore and set them aside. Digging through his desk drawer – aka the hellhole – he emerged triumphant, a comb in hand. He washed it and dried it off in the bathroom sink and slid it into an envelope so it didn't get lost. It was tossed onto the 'Kas' pile. He'd give it to him tomorrow.

Dean pulled on shoes and left, heading to the meeting late. He glanced down Kas's hall as he passed and noticed the door was still open. Weird. Didn't he know how to shut it? Maybe not. Looking back and forth down the hall, he saw no one was watching, or walking by. He pursed his lips. Well he didn't want to leave it. Sighing, he ducked down the hall and crept up to the open door as quietly as possible. If he was awake… God… He held his breath as his eyes slid inside. Kas was… asleep? Fully clothed on his bed, curled up like a toddler, and out like a light. Poor guy looked like a little kid. Dean's eyes softened. Reaching out, he slid the door gently shut, clicking it into place before retreating down the hall. He had to stop overreacting. Kas was just a robot. Right?


	8. Chapter 7

_7_

_Varieties of Peace Offerings:_

_One_

When I had finally reached a conclusion, I ran my diagnostics. So far so good. I had an idea and an understanding of my capabilities. Although my philosophy needed work. I opened my eyes and glanced around my room. Everything was dark. It seemed someone had come and shut the door while I was thinking. Who, I wonder? My sensors beeped. I was low on fuel, unfortunately. I sat up and checked my regulators. Solar power was the vast majority of my systems. I had been exposed to very little - in order to make sure I wasn't a liability before being given free reign – so I was in dire need of it. I checked my time tables. It was about five in the morning. The sun should be up soon.

Climbing off my cot took some clumsy motions. The door gave way under my hand and I stared at it as it slid open. Hanging on the door frame, I peered outside. There was no one about. No feet. No voices. Everything was dead silence. The last thing I wanted to do was attract unwanted attention.

Creeping into the hall seemed harder than it really turned out to be. The floors were pretty solid – so long as I kept my footsteps light, I could pass unheard. I climbed through the building, mapping it out; I found the empty kitchen brimming with unwashed pots. There were several corridors full of bedrooms. The lounge area had a sleeping figure draped over the couch. I left them alone, leaving behind soft snores and passing through the doorways until I reached the center of the facility.

Along my way, I located door that read, 'Sun Room.' It was in a long hall otherwise sparse of doors and full of boxes. I opened it carefully and looked out into a circle of exposed grass. It was a door right to outside. The dim dawn light was growing, casting this hole in a gentle glow. My eyes lifted. There was a hidden staircase along the wall to the upper levels, where another door was hidden. I stepped out and looked down at the earth to see the grass was lush, slightly untrimmed, and thick. Its scent filled my head.

Pushing aside the grass curtain sewn to keep the stairs hidden, I climbed steadily, only wobbling a little. I put a hand against the grassy wall for balance as I looked up into the canopy of the woods around the base, and on top of it, consequently. A real breeze filled my lungs and ruffled my hair.

The top of the building was a series of short rolling hills, upon which thick oak trees grew, their roots large and gnarled. Lowering myself with my back against one of them was harder than it looked. I lost my grip and bumped my head against the bark and winced as pain jarred my spine. I rubbed the hurt area gingerly, settling back into the tree's lap. Pain was much more vivid than my programming had lead me to believe. I was finding all sorts of things to be different than my programming – maybe trusting it was not the best idea. Then, what did I trust? Experience, maybe. But I had so little experience to go off of.

Nature was so serene. I felt absolutely no judgment from the trees and bushes and call of the animals in the morning. Everything was going on around me with a distinct indifference to my existence… without being bothered or angered by me just being.

I put my hands on my knees and let the used air filter out of my system. Then the sunlight came. I watched it eagerly peek from behind soft pale grey clouds and touch each leaf on the way across the horizon, wrapping its warm hands around the tree trunks and coming rushing over me. I squinted against its glare, but I could feel it against my skin like a presence. It was genuine warmth. Not heat, or coils, or chill – but hands, warm hands, sliding over my skin and my hair and my shoulders. My sensors soaked it up. It was a feeling I had never experienced before. Like hearing new voices, and feeling new touch, and new words.

There were so many new things, and this was the one I knew would be most prominent. Every inch of me was basked in a glow I craved deep in my circuits. My head tilted back. My eyes slid open, and I was gazing into the spring green canopy flush with golden morning light. Everything hummed with life. I could hear morning-doves cooing far overhead, awakened by the sun, and connected this with morning.

* * *

_Varieties of Peace Offerings:_

_The Other_

The smell of overgrown foliage and the touch of sunlight in his hair settled Dean back into a wooden chair. He released a happy sigh. Around his head the air hummed with life. Dragon flies chased each other passed his nose, ducking and weaving, the beat of their wings like a helicopter. Ducks were arguing across the lake pretty sourly. And the flop in the water let him know there was something to catch. Everything was perfect. His eyes were snared by the shimmer on the rippling waves as they lapped in different directions, in constant motion.

He didn't remember coming here and he didn't plan on leaving before dinnertime so there was no rush at all. Sammy was at home probably cooking something or reading the paper. Lisa took Ben to some theme park up North. There was beer in his ice cooler was flawless. His boots were warmed by the planks of the dock. If he didn't catch anything – he totally would – today was the perfect day to sit out and just fish. A comfortable heaviness on his chest made him aware he could fall asleep at any minute. He let his eyelids droop. Today was… perfect. No explosions. No missions. No Androids. His eyes fell shut wearily.

When he opened them again, he was sitting tied to a chair and there was someone leaning over him. The light overhead was too bright and the rest of the room was too dark. A familiar cologne wafted daintily into his nose. His head spun sluggishly with it as the figure grinned and his perfect teeth glittered. "Keep dreaming," the male voice said grimly, "it's more fun when it's a surprise anyway." They knelt while he tried to make out why his arms and legs didn't want to move – or for that matter, why he didn't want to move them. He swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing. A horniness was in the lethargy of his body. It was kinky, being tied down, wasn't it? He tried to get a better look at his kidnapper without success. Once the hands loosened his belt, and the fingers pried open the button of his jeans, he was lost inside his own mind again. A hand on his thick boner made him gasp. No one had been in his pants in a real long while – not since he'd left Lisa, actually. What…? Someone was working his throbbing hard-on, fingers sliding along the soft material of his boxer briefs. They felt so good – so _warm_ \- they were making him writhe. No one had wanted to get him off since her. He _needed_ it. Their every twitch drove him crazy as a moan escaped his lips.

They slid him from his material cage. Lips and a tongue wrapped around his manhood as hot and slick as syrup. Pleasure exploded behind his eyelids and everything melted. Over and over, up and down his cock. Suddenly, his hands were freed. His clothes were gone. The room was dark and hot and someone else was _really _wrapped around his dick. Whoever it was, he felt them with an overwhelming sensation – all hot and wet and quivering and tight as fuck. He grabbed lush thighs and thrust into them, eager for more, the feeling washing him free of all the stress he had built up over the years. He shed it like skin. He didn't care who this was or why - he just needed to get off with someone who wanted him, and it had to be right now. There was no room for anything but rough, quick, lip-biting sex.

He hadn't groaned like this in years. Whoever this was, they were damn good. All he had of his partner was a pair of rocking hips teasing an orgasm into creeping up his pelvis, and legs draped on either side of him. Wrapping his hands around their built thighs, he tried to discern who it was through his growing ecstasy. Hair. Strong, rough skin. Male. He was fucking a guy? A guy was on his dick? He didn't care. He was too close, too horny. The guy smelled great anyway, and strong hands massaged his sides as he came close to climax, coaxing him along. He was so _close_. With one last satisfied groan, Dean came. Colors exploded behind his eyes, drowning his head in a drunk sort of frenzy. He hammered his hips until the guy's ass sucked him dry. Thoughts faded away. His soft cock twitched inside his panting partner, and he lay limp, exhausted. A sex-laden voice managed to pierce his lethargy. _"Dean," _the voice moaned attractively._ "I knew you needed to get laid, but Jesus…"_

With a shudder, Dean awoke. He blinked at the ceiling. What the hell…? His dreams floated around in his head like clouds, and when he reached out to grasp them, his hand caught fog and flashes of memories. He felt his face light up beet red as he covered it up with shaking hands and a grunt escaped his lips. What was wrong with him? One bad break-up and suddenly he was homo? Jesus, he needed help. Maybe he'd finally go lay Jo. That ought to put him straight again.

He tried to roll out of bed and yelped as his shin was jarred with pain. Well, he was awake now. His face twisted up in a grimace. Yanking back the blanket, he saw it had gotten worse. All black and blue and yellow and gross. He scowled.

Looking up, he realized for the first time that he wasn't in his room. Something in his head clicked. The ceiling was too high and the space was too pale. This wasn't his bed. It was a couch. Shifting, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and winced. Whew, booze breath. After the meeting he must've gotten hammered and went walking around after hours. Doing drunken perimeter checks. Bouncing against walls. His head sure felt like it, anyway.

Someone had tossed a heavy blanket over him after he'd finally crashed. Sam, probably – he was the only one with enough guts to bust his balls when he did stupid shit. Everyone else just let him be. Which he didn't mind. But without Sam around these last few months he'd done pretty much whatever he wanted, and honestly he was a bit sick of it. No one to challenge him. Like an Alpha male without a few Betas. It also meant a lot of cold mornings after hitting the bottle pretty hard.

Dean folded the blanket and put it aside as he sat up slowly, pretty paranoid about his leg now. It throbbed with pain but… he didn't want to tend to it. It sort of served to distract him from his confused sexual tension, oddly. It really bugged him that he needed one. He felt like a teenager banging his knees into walls trying to keep down a boner. It only worked for a little while, and then he was horny _and_ hurt.

He got to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair as he went about his perimeter checks. A shower and a toothbrush and he'd feel better. But first things first. He wouldn't be able to quell his nerves until he knew everybody was still safe, so he strode down the halls, each step jarring his bruised leg, and checked all the doors. The bedrooms were all still closed and locked shut. The kitchens were full of the early-morning kids prepping breakfast. They tossed him a biscuit and some ham before he continued on his way.

Munching and walking, Dean went back to the lounge room he'd woken up in, and walked down to check the last hall people barely went down. It just had the boiler room and the sun room, which was just a door to the outside. But the closer he drew to it the more he noticed light spilling inside from a cracked door. He licked the ham off his fingers and wiped them on his jeans before reaching out to open the Sun Room door curiously. His eyes lifted. The steps had recently been used. Was someone out there? Hopefully it wasn't anything to worry about, like an invader, but he had to check, just in case it was a kid.

Worry nagged at the back of his head as he crept into the center of the grass circle and looked up. It had just been dawn about twenty minutes ago. Light spilled over the forest. He admired it minimally as he searched for life signs. Turning around, he froze, surprise overtaking his face.

A figure was curled against a tree. Torn clothes, knees knocking together… It was… Kas? Roughed-up suit, dark hair, sensible shoes. Yeah, it was him. There was something about him, though. He was doing some form of photosynthesis, probably charging his solar batteries. But what struck Dean was the golden light touching his hair. The thin press to his lips. The shy posture as he leaned against the lap of a towering oak tree. He looked so overwhelmed and yet was absorbing the morning around him with such a hesitant sensitivity that it was almost childish.

The rebel leader felt a warm quiver in his heart and it crept up into his eyes, filling them with soft affection. His head crowded with a fuzzy feeling of euphoria. His lungs shuddered. His lips parted. All at once, he got the insatiable urge to touch and caress, to thread his fingers through that dark hair and feel the warmth the sun had left on his flesh. He needed to show him how he put butterflies in his ribcage and melting butter on his heart and the strange, foreign need coursing through his veins like poison, infecting his entire body and leaving him paralyzed.

He turned and left the Sun Room. His legs carried him by force of will alone. Thoroughly shaken, Dean retreated to his room and sank down on the end of his bed. He couldn't stop thinking about it. How Kas's hair would feel – how human it would be beneath his fingertips. His hot skin, the chapped pink lips, strong hands grasping him… This was wrong. Kas was not who he wanted him to be. Those old memories were with someone who was born and lived and died. Well, betrayed him, first. Not some robot - a human being. Kas wasn't him and he wasn't Kas and he had to stop himself. Just because they just had the same face, and the same hair, and the same… everything…

Dean's Adams apple bobbed. His wide green eyes tore away from the floor and noticed the clothing pile. He stared at it a minute. His favorite jeans. His favorite black tee. Even an over shirt. He grabbed the clothing pile and went to Kas's room at once, sliding it onto his desk before he got back from the Sun Room.

* * *

_Varieties of Peace Offerings:_

_One_

I don't recall how long I sat out in the sun seeing as I had not marked the time I sat down. But when my sensors were at full capacity, I climbed back down to the door and left the morning air behind. Something caught my eye at the bottom of the stairs. New footsteps. It was clear the door had been opened further, and then pushed back. Worried, I stepped through it and glanced about. Had I let out a child? Had someone come by? There was no one to question and no way to know who had tampered with the door – nothing except the faint smell of cologne that somehow struck a chord in my memory. But I could not place it.

The walk back was just as quiet, although my room was also tampered with upon my return. My bed was wrinkle-free, and a change of clothes was folded neatly on the desk. There was an envelope beside it. I frowned as I opened it up. It was heavy with some sort of item enclosed inside. Tilting it the contents into my hand, I was surprised to see a small blue, plastic comb tumble out. I stared. A comb? I glanced around, back into the hall as well, but there was still no signs of anyone.

Sighing, I put the comb and envelope inside and began to undress. I would question Sam later. First, my clothes _did_ need to be replaced. They were dirty and torn in a few places, and getting quite cold to wear. I took off my blazer and put it along the back of my desk chair along with my tie. I tried to unbutton my shirt as well, fumbling with it clumsily until I finally got it undone. My hands were so uncoordinated. They needed calibration. I discarded my slacks as well, and paused a moment. Reaching out, I closed the door, and found there was a long mirror on the back of it.

I stared at myself. My human likeness was chilling. My shaped torso, soft abs, the curve of each bicep. Moving my arms around, I examined each motion. There was something about being free of clothing that made me feel both self-conscious and breathless. I could run faster, move quicker, and shift my shoulders without the heaviness of material. My skin was all the same shade of pale peach. My body twisted and moved as one as I touched each shoulder. Human-like, but still… off. Wrong. I tilted my head. Everything about me was so uncannily human, and yet…

I frowned at myself and turned away. I was not human.

The new clothes were soft and warm in my hands. Close to the touch of sunlight, but not close enough. I pulled a black t-shirt over my head. Its soft material covered my self-consciousness up like a curtain. I sank into it. My new body was hidden gently, covered in a much more relaxing way. I no longer felt stiff or tense. Next were a pair of denim pants. They had a simple zipper and button combination. I pulled them on and at once felt their hug and stretch. Much more freeing than slacks. There was a belt there, but I did not put it on. I didn't know how.

I swapped my thick-soled black shoes for a new pair of thick white socks and black boots one size too big, and there was one thing left. A shirt remained. Like my old white shirt, only with thicker, softer material. It was a very dark blue color – I archived it, placing it below my tie's color. I frowned. Were there two shirts? I decided to put it on as well, just in case, and it took forever to button all the way to the top. I left the top two buttons undone out of frustration and began eyeing the comb. Comb. Comb. Combs and belts were foreign to me. Two knocks came from my door and broke my thought patterns. When I walked over to it, I felt the heaviness of the boots on my feet, and the gentle tug and swish of my new clothes and shivered warmly, and felt… safe. I liked it a lot. I wished to never change again. Who knew being made human-like came with sensation like this?

I turned the door handle and pulled it open easily, to see Sam standing outside. He was smiling and bathed and shaved, and dressed as comfortably as I was. "Morning," he chuckled. "You look comfy."

"I do like these new clothing pieces," I replied. "They feel… better. Where are they from?"

"Thank Dean. They're from his closet." Dean? I was shocked. "He was right; his shirts will be a bit long on you, but you wear the same jeans. How are the boots?"

"One size too large," I managed. Now that I factored him into the equation, the same cologne smell stuck to these clothes – I had just deduced that it followed me from the hall. Apparently not. Dean had left the clothes? For me? And Dean had been at the door? I felt him in the stitches and the hug across my chest and thighs. I felt the tug and smelled the dust he had gathered and the cheap detergent he used. Oddly, I was invigorated by this.

"Dang. All right, we'll see if we can get boots that fit better." Sam held out an arm, motioning for me to come with him. "Come on, the troops are ready to meet you."

"Are the boots Dean's as well?" I asked suddenly.

He looked a bit startled, but nodded a bit. "Yeah, they are. Why?"

"The size is comfortable," I replied, satisfied, as I stepped out into the hall with him and looked in the direction he motioned. He shrugged as he began to lead me away. I felt as if denying Dean's hospitality would send the wrong message. I did not belong here – not yet, maybe not ever – but he the first human to make it clear I was not a welcome presence, and he was giving me belongings. I was very curious as to the reason, but I would not be using anything except questions to discern his true meaning. Besides, I wanted to know more about him. About these people. Starting with the leader just seemed… right.


	9. Chapter 8

_8_

_Stiff Formalities:_

_One_

The cafeteria was overstuffed with people and the nauseating smell of human food. Low ceiling, plain tables, people sitting side by side on bench chairs that stretched the length of each table... Sam led me along the center aisle between the line of tables, and I peered over the shoulders of all the eating troops, spotting all sorts of strangely colored things on their trays. Half of it looked fried. Looking to the serving area I could tell why. All the cooks and such were part of the rebellion too. They were all kids being ordered around by the top chef, a man with a white mustache and slender arms sticking out of his pushed-up sleeves.

It seemed this cafeteria was suited to serve everyone. I counted over a hundred people here. This massive gathering being this efficient without strict order was very fascinating and very impressive. I could find nothing like this in my archives. Faces were noted and conversations were caught as I tried to store as much as possible. Clothing, names, hair color. But it was made clearer and clearer that I was a point of interest - people paused their meals to turn and watch me walk along behind Sam. They turned in their chairs; some casually, some with haunting looks. I read the experience in the callouses on their hands and the weight on their shoulders. Some of them had been military before now. Some had just been parents and college kids. The roaring noise had faded at a steady pace. I met a few pairs of eyes looking back at me. All had dark circles under them, steely determination, and hints of other emotions. Fear. Curiosity. A few I did not yet recognize. They were respectfully quiet… or afraid, I could not tell.

Dean was sitting at a table off to the right, mingling right in with his troops, exchanging a few words with another blue-eyed male. He looked so informal. Yesterday he'd looked the same. But now, in just a dark t-shirt and jeans, he was so different. The other male was just a bit larger than Dean, with stronger arms. When they turned I was surprised by the lightness of this new male's irises – much paler than my own. Like the sky at twilight right before it streaked with sunset. Archived. He nodded to me, which I returned. Then we all turned to Dean, who had risen from his seat and stood looking me over with his hands on his hips.

"Good to see you lost the tax-accountant look," he said, meeting my eyes only after making sure I had put on everything he'd given me. Then his gaze did not leave mine.

"Without your assistance, I would have been unable to. Thank you." I made sure to pay extra attention to him now, knowing his importance, as well as his strange gift of belongings - like offerings of peace in diplomacy.

His eyebrows lifted in amusement, a nod to his head. "Well, here we take care of our own," he replied evenly. His irises were sliding between hazel stars in pools of pale green and honey colored whiskey shots. I was unaware of its causation and made a note to look it up at a later date.

Recently showered. Hair combed. I detected alcohol on his breath beneath the smell of eggs and hash. He'd gotten intoxicated last night and slept somewhere besides his bed, judging by the crick in his neck. I could also tell he still favored his left leg and had slept unwell, despite his drunken coma… and the reason for his uneasiness around me was still unknown. It sent a tremor of fidgeting through his muscles and pushed his chin away from me, his eyes magnetized to my face but his will pulling them away. His jaw clenched. His teeth sank into the soft flesh of his lips until they were pink. I found my own eyes drawn to his lip biting, flickering my gaze back to his at once.

* * *

_Stiff Formalities:_

_The Other_

The shower's hot stream pounded against him and Dean pounded his need down the drain. His teeth sank into his lip and his fist curled against the wall and his imagination filled in what he needed. His leg throbbed with every step he took back to his room, wrapped in a towel. He changed and combed his hair and pulled on his boots and went to breakfast without another thought. Routine was the only thing holding him together at the seams right now, he needed it.

No one noticed. They were all too absorbed with yesterday's mission success. Dean ate with a pit in his stomach as he carried on a mumbled conversation with Benny and Sam. Eggs passed his lips and he regretted every bite. He felt sick. Having fantasies about a robot was not something he wanted his head to get comfy with. It was wrong, goddammit! He was upset with himself, but if he pushed his plate away he knew Sam would be on his ass like a damn hound on a trail. And he didn't want anyone to know what was going on in his head. Especially not Sam.

When the Android walked in, looking all soft and tousled in Dean's clothes, all eyes turned on him. They saw him – not like their leader did, but they all knew at once whose clothing he was wearing – and their animosity was clear. He was a foreign object who looked like a person. Dean exchanged words with him best he could. Again he could see Kas drinking him in; he'd glanced over Benny when they shook hands, but Dean noticed that he was getting_ extra_ close attention. Not a sip, but a drink. Maybe he was feeling something too. Or maybe Dean was just being weird.

* * *

_Stiff Formalities:_

_One_

"Ladies and gents." Dean boomed, shattering my thought patterns. "Yesterday's mission was a rousing success. We're always burying friends and gaining new ones – and seeing as we lost good souls last night, it's time to introduce a new one. This is Kas. He may look like a civilian because I raided my closet for him, but Kas here is the artificial intelligence we were set out to rescue last night." He turned to the people and away from me, spreading his arms. "Without his military programming he's just a hyper intelligent android - but don't piss him off if you don't wanna test your luck." A ripple of chuckles went through the cafeteria. I noted the laughter causation. Beside me, Sam smiled sheepishly. "He's under our strict protection now. From the outside, from the corporations, from each other, and from himself. He's our responsibility as an organization. Sam and I will be personally looking after his well-being but his education as a person depends on all of us as a whole." He crossed his arms. "You all did a bang-up job yesterday. Because of all of your efforts, Kas here walks free, and that's our biggest victory in a long time. But that's what it's all about, right?" Nods and scattered applause met his question. "That's what I'm talkin' about. Good work, guys and gals. I'm proud of us." Resounding applause followed his dismount as he sat back down, motioning for Sam and I to join him. He settled in casually, as if he did this every morning. I sat between the new male and Sam, looking across at Dean as he casually picked up his fork and went back to his eggs. The roaring clapping faded off and the clinking of silverware and plates began again.

"You seem to be an exceptional leader, Dean," I said to him, and received a flicker of his eyes to mine and hunched shoulders.

"Yeah, well, it helps to have good people," was his only reply, before they all continued eating. I sat quietly, studying him. Such power in his hands.

Beside me, the pale-eyed male nudged my arm and held out a warm hand. "Benny. Nice to see a new face around these parts. You're Kas, is that right?" He spoke slowly, like honey flowing, and had a soft and deep southern tone.

"That is correct." I nodded as I shook his hand and examined his face. Thick eyebrows, neatly trimmed facial hair, recently showered. Dean's left hand man, since Sam was his right hand man. Benny. He was neatly archived along with his height, weight, and position of power. "Are there parts that receive more new faces?" I queried.

A laugh rumbled from his chest. "I like this one, Dean." He exchanged a smirk with Dean, who I tilted my head at. "Our almighty leader here has been planning last night's raid for almost a year now. And you were the center point, Kas my man." Benny continued. "So what's your primary function? What did they build you for?"

"Initially I was to be commissioned for tedious or dangerous jobs to prevent human injury. Later it was made clear I was made for army replacement, in order to deport human soldiers from the front lines and dangerous areas, as well as trivial areas, until only sensitive areas required human occupation." I rattled off.

"That's quite a job list." Benny parted a buttered biscuit with gentle hands before picking a half to take a bite out of. For his size, he wasn't using his immense strength nearly as much as Dean was. Maybe he didn't need to.

"He was only supposed to advance robotics," Sam piped up from beside me, where he was moving hash browns around his plate. "Fairs, conferences, scientific breakthroughs. Which is why it threw up red flags that he was given a commission list. Him being a military project was highly classified. Without Lisa, our chances of getting to the truth before he was programmed were null and void."

"Her and her big-wig ways," Dean mumbled.

Sam gave him a look. "You know why she has to - she has Ben to protect. He's too young for all this, and you know as well as I do that she's of more use up there."

"Doesn't mean she isn't a big-wig," Dean shot back. "She might be one of us, but she isn't here, is she?" This argument sounded over practiced. Ms. Braeden was a point of stress?

"She's taken plenty of risks for us, up there in the real world, and never let us down before," Benny whispered to me as the brothers glared each other down. "She and her son Ben live in the big city with big bucks and a soft spot for rebels. But she's real careful, you know? Good at her job. Dean's just a bit sore, is all. She and him were close once, before she got this new job."

"Is Ben his son?" I asked. It was a bit louder than I should have said it, apparently, but I hadn't anticipated the topic being sensitive material. Benny and Sam went awkwardly silent, exchanging looks at me and each other before turning to Dean.

Our almighty leader was staring at his plate. "Bring Jo up to give him the tour later. And make sure she teaches him how to use a damn comb." His voice was low but his tone wasn't a vicious as I had expected. Without another word, he got up and took his things and left, putting his dishes up before stalking out the door. His limp was worsening. I frowned as I watched the door when he had gone.

"Try and avoid stuff like that around Dean," Sam sighed. "He's a tough shell to crack in the first place. You don't want marks against you."

I looked to Sam, calculated the tension in his eyes, and nodded. I hadn't wished to offend anyone. Maybe I could apologize at a later date. They finished eating with slim conversation, exchanging questions about strategies and statistics from the mission. Benny had a habit of including me in their information trade every now and then with such polite tendencies that I never turned down replying. Though I appreciated the interaction, my thoughts were still with Dean. I wished very much for answers to the questions I know I shouldn't be asking.


	10. Chapter 9

_9_

_Occupy the Hands, Occupy the Spirit:_

_One_

When Sam summoned the female Jo, I was expecting a male-like troop to approach, seeing as very few names I'd come into contact with were conflicting with their majority gender statistic. What I didn't expect was a comely blond female with a coy ease to her. Every step was purposeful, every glance heavy with wit, and every motion gave off a soft smell of perfume. Sam brought her up to me after breakfast and introduced us. Apparently, Jo was the daughter of Ellen, who ran the bar downstairs.

I had assumed there was a downstairs by the building layout but the bar part I had not anticipated. I had read about bars in my database. I was curious about them. Jo promised to take me later, after the tour. The tone of her voice was archived and bookmarked as important in my database.

She led me along the cluttered halls of the facility. Jo was fiery, casual, and comfortable with the heavy male attention she received, which became more and more evident. There were a lot of single males in this facility. She went about her business showing me all the lounge areas while all the teenage and a few older males followed her every move. Everywhere we went they were there. I studied each. Elevated heart rate, dilating pupils. So many pining followers. She didn't give a single one a sideways glance. When I questioned her about it, she just smiled. "Dignity," she winked at me, and continued the tour.

* * *

_Occupy the Hands, Occupy the Spirit:_

_The Other_

Checking up on the groups of workers, Dean made sure everything was on schedule, and that a few of the injured men were being taken care of. He sat and talked to them a bit before leaving to avoid the nurse wanting to look at his leg. They thanked him as he limped out. The young janitors were hard at work cleaning the muddy garage. Popping his head in to give some support Dean reassured them the no-outside-air lockdown was almost over. A twenty-four-hour lockdown was necessary, or else someone might notice their new member moving around. They moaned and groaned but accepted it like they always did. They had good kids here.

The outside ban thing reminded him to talk to Kas about his Sun Room escapades. Although he didn't want to interact with him, he knew avoiding him was childish. The thing was part of the base now. He was in the family. Whether Dean wanted to or not, he would protect every soul in this facility with his life. On his way to the Android's room, he got bombarded with a few angry teenagers having a loud argument over someone sleeping with someone's girlfriend. He pried apart a fight and chastised the two kids involved. Romance, he understood. When he'd resolved things between them, he was moving on to Kas's room. But there was no one there.

Right, Jo had taken him on a tour. Well good. Then this could wait 'til later.

* * *

_Occupy the Hands, Occupy the Spirit:_

_One_

Jo showed me the bedroom halls, which were all set up like a hotel – in a square, with a lounge area in the middle - and said they were assigned alphabetically by families. There were quite a lot of them so they tried to keep friends and families close together for morale. All the rooms were simple, but with souvenirs and other collectibles they'd brought with them from their old lives. There were community bathrooms in every hall that a select group volunteered to clean. In fact, all of the workers were volunteers from the rebellion. Janitors, cooks, teachers, anything. Their community was very bonded.

I asked Jo where Dean and Sam lived before we moved passed the bedroom halls, and she brought me to the hall indicated by the brothers earlier. "This is the hall where mostly the orphaned troops live. Dean and Sam are all the way on the end of the hall, rooms 504 and 506, the last doors on either side. They're the only family here. The others – Garth, Benny, Kevin – they all lost their families to something that pushed them into the cause. You've already met Benny, but you'll love Garth and Kevin." Her teasing tone was lost on me, but I did think the glimmer in her eyes was fetching. She was a lovely female.

"Are you close to anyone here, Jo?" I asked curiously as she walked me to the other upper sections. We walked passed storage rooms and the weapons room, strides matching, her long slender legs swinging alongside my own. I was not even human and I understood the mass attraction to her.

"Why do you ask, Kas?" She sounded cautious, like if he said something wrong she was mustering a sarcastic reply and a submachine gun as if a feminist statement had been made.

"You're a very attractive female in a facility full of relatable, eligible bachelors. Statistically, there would be at least twenty males of interest to you, and about half a dozen possible mates." Her laugh was like music to my ears. Although its cause was still a mystery, I enjoyed hearing it all the same. I filed it alongside her voice in my archive. It also meant she wasn't angry.

"Are girls supposed to look for 'mates'?"

I frowned at her. "Are they not supposed to?"

Jo nudged my arm and laughed. "The thing is, I really don't. I could die tomorrow. Why would I want a guy to look after?" I thought about that opinion very thoroughly. Her pretty face was framed by bouncing golden curls, and I saw her smile. "I don't want to break hearts or have a big baby to look tailing me everywhere I go. I need to take care of myself and my mom and my people. In comparison, boys are just not as important."

The top tour was done soon after that. There was just the garage and the sun room and the library, and Dean had sent out an order for everyone to stay indoors, so there was no looking outside. Everything upstairs smelled lived-in. I picked out hundreds of unique scents – including Dean's and Sam's – and various other things. I smelled happiness and grief and sadness and anger. There was so much anger. But the teenagers ran passed laughing and grabbing each other and pushing each other, and their happiness washed away the traces of everything else. Married couples walked by talking in low voices and smiling. I saw a couple swapping tongues in a back corner along the way like some sacred ritual. Jo shared her giggle with me as we passed, my face twisting up and scrunching. Their hormones were far too strong for my nose.

Jo walked me to a staircase I had overlooked in my early-morning seek for sunlight. It wound down and around until we reached the bottom floor. A soccer court, tennis court, and other manner of sports were scattered along this endlessly long room. Parts of it were blocked off to separate sports, but there was a bit of everything. In the opposite direction was a door to a large shooting range. We went through a small hall passed the courts and the gym was on one side, a pool on the other. Since the facility was full of males and females from sixteen upwards, they were all lifeguards, all of them coaches and spotters. The safety checks and responsibility here hung in every rafter.

Down another hall was the bar. Besides some unused classrooms and another smaller library, this was the last part of the tour - the bar was our final stop. We pushed through the heavy wooden doors and Jo swept her arm welcomingly. The walls were lined with taxidermy and old western paintings and cactus neon signs. Tables and chairs were scattered everywhere, neatly made up and waiting for partakers, though this early in the morning no one was in yet. It was all very rustic, with uneven wooden floors and pool tables, and a high bar in front of a wall of alcohol. The bottles glittered and glowed in rainbow colors and neatly-organized order. So many. I stared at them as we approached the bar.

A worn female face, with well-kept hair and very modest clothing that hugged her vivacious curves, was organizing bottles of tequila when we entered. She looked up and smiled, finishing her work along the wall of booze before turning to us. "And who's this?" She asked in surprise. "A new face?" Her voice was as worn and kind as she looked.

"Kas, this is Ellen, my mom. This is Kas, mom," Jo replied with a smile. "The AI Android. Dean's mission last night got him out in one piece."

"So you're the android, huh?" Ellen walked around and put her hands on her hips as she approached me, looking me over. "Well, honey, aren't you cute." Her face broke into a smile just like Joe's. I knew I was going to like her then.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." I shook her hand and her smile grew.

"Polite and cute. Well, welcome aboard, stranger. We could use more like you around here." I factored the possibility of my unknown but seemingly-aged-passed-young-adulthood skin into the reason that she was offering flirtatious means towards my character. It was of no concern. It was not serious, but it was curious. Ellen went back to her bar and leaned on it. "What do you do? We could use some new hands around here."

"If I am shown any tasks a single time, I can repeat it without delay any time previous to the demonstration," I answered. "Any task you put me to I will work efficiently."

"How about we start small, then?" Ellen smiled. "Busing tables, wiping them down… how's your memory?"


	11. Chapter 10

_10_

_Tricks of the Mind:_

_One_

"Kas!" Turning around, I lifted the sterile rag in my hand off the table I was washing and looked around eagerly for Jo. I spotted her waving to me from the bar and finished a quick sweep of the table before taking my bussing tray and spray bottle over to her. I sighed to myself. She had done this several times now – called me in the middle of something - and it was very difficult to do several things at once, I found. I became too intent on one task at a time. For some reason I couldn't remedy it. My meticulous nature was overpowering the knowledge that I knew I was moving too slowly.

Although I had been working all day, nothing had prepared me for the rush in the evening. There were people everywhere. Apparently most everyone was of legal age. Sam had lifted a few minors by the collar and escorted them out, but otherwise the entire facility was packed in the bar. Everything smelled like musk and dirt and leather and beer. The men must've carried in in with them, because when I passed the women I got different perfume brands and flower types. Baby powder was my favorite. Benny and Garth, who I finally met, were hitting hard liquor and having an argument about buck shooting. Sam was in the corner with his buddies laughing over beer. There were people crowded around the bar and the pool tables singing and laughing and pushing each other in a rough, masculine way. The noise levels were very high – just on the line between comfortable and chaotic - but since most of the voices were deeper tones, I could pick out Jo's call out of them quite well.

"Yes, Jo?" I asked as I slid behind the bar into the kitchen in the back and began to unload the dishes I'd gathered. My hands were red and ached from washing them, giving them out, and then gathering them back up and starting all over again. It was a maddening process. Vigorous, but entertaining. I was never at a loss for something to do. When I was done unloading the dirty glasses into the hot soapy water, I wiped my hands on the apron they'd given me and looked over at her blond curls.

"Another round of beers for the pool boys," Jo replied as she poured more shots for Benny. "They're in the back cooler."

"Yes, ma'am." They taught me that phrase recently. After my nods and shy shuffling off were taken into notice, Ellen had decided I needed something more solid and respectful. I did not argue. It flowed off the tongue, and it felt good to placate these two lovely women. Ducking into the back of the kitchen, I pulled out a clean tray and balanced ten new ice-cold beers onto it, sweeping out from the kitchen and back into the fray. I wove through the throng of bodies.

This was my favorite part. I got to see the new faces light up at the sight of more alcohol to consume. And balancing the tray made me feel important. I was unsure why.

When I reached the pool table corner, though, there were eleven men standing around with pool sticks scattered among them and the colorful balls on the green material… strangely untouched. One voice rose above the others that I recognized immediately. I shifted into the crowd politely and craned my neck to see him over the other bobbing heads.

Dean was sitting on the end of one of the tables. He used dramatic gesticulation and an infectious laugh to tell a story of some sort. Everyone there had their twinkling eyes fixed on him, full of admiration and pride. I'd never seen such a big group this quiet. Nut brown hair shining gold under the overhanging lights, Dean's head tipped back when he laughed, and the laughter echoed around him, rumbling from his admirers. I hard snatches of gunfire and dodging bullets. Something about the usurping of a corporate building. But as soon as Dean spotted me, he paused, his hands hovering in mid-air. His gaze was swirling with unbridled emotion. It bombarded me like a neon sign in a foreign language, and I stared at him curiously. I did not understand. He had either avoided me all day or treated me gruffly, this display was alien. Everyone turned to me then, and I was forced to meet their numerous gazes instead of try and process what it had been.

"Looks like Kas got himself a job," Dean smiled. But when I looked back to him his eyes were unreadable again. "Ellen putting you to work already?"

I nodded and held out the tray. "Jo sent me with these." The men replied with enthusiasm, thanking me and wrestling bottles of beer to each other until everybody had one except Dean. I met his eyes. "I apologize, if I'd known you were here I would have-"

Someone pushed a beer into Dean's hands. He was about to protest modestly when they held up a hand. "Don't worry, we take care of our fearless leader," the unknown man winked at me, and I nodded gratefully.

* * *

_Tricks of the Mind:_

_The Other_

With Jo distracting the new recruit, Dean got his rounds done. He interacted with everyone on his route thoroughly. Lists, orders, procedure. So far the plans for the next mission were coming together nicely – the few folks he had working on it now were pushing him for answers, but he wasn't ready to give any yet. A pit rode in his stomach. He just encouraged them to keep working and gave them a charismatic smile before continuing on his way. They didn't need to know. Not yet. Back in his room, he poured over maps on his desk, and organized groups on paper and balled up plans and threw them away, just to start over. They had to be twice as careful now. Not only were they thieves, but kidnappers. The news was raging with controversy over the recent bombarding they'd pulled off. Everyone and everything was looking for them. But they had good cover and good people working for them. Again, they were only one large part of a bigger body. This cause had attracted a lot of help – a lot of high-ups, and richies. He was rolling in applicants.

Granted, he only got half his work done, because he was constantly listening for shuffling footsteps and the gravelly voice he had so recently come to know. Every moment he was writing or filing he was having a stray thought about the Android. He rubbed his face and glanced at the door when he walked passed, pacing, and forced himself to go back to his desk. Kas was the center of all of this now. And Dean knew he wasn't ready for it. He was just a kid dropped in the middle of all this – he'd just been born a few months ago. They needed to train him up and get him ready to defend himself against the onslaught waiting for them. He had to be ready. But until then, he was just a bunch of wiring and a face. Right? Dean fought with himself over this every moment Kas came to mind. Was he just a robot made too close to a person, or was he a person made out of clockwork? He ran his fingers through his hair as the light from his desk lamp spilled over his news reports and critical claims. Robot or soul? Maybe both, maybe neither. It didn't change anything. It didn't change his attraction. It didn't change seemingly innocent Kas's fascination with him. And it definitely didn't change the cause.

When he decided he needed a drink, Dean left his desk and locked his door behind him. Everyone – minus the perimeter crew - had already gone before him. The younger ones were enjoying the lack of parental figures hanging around, bouncing off the facility walls, and one glance of him brought giddy smiles and temporary composure. He warned them not to break anything with a smirk before leaving them be. Kids, man. He descended the steps into the basement. Each step jarred his hurt shin. A lot of tipsy couples were playing tennis together and laughing loudly when he passed. His eyes drifted over them. His people. He was proud of them - they deserved a bit of a break.

As soon as he plunged into the bar he was swept up by his buddies at the pool table. Dean grinned. He glanced over at the bar to see if Jo was working – he needed to get out of his mourning period after Lisa, and he'd been planning on having Jo as a buffer between him and his new Kas problem. Unfortunately, that was using her, but he knew Jo would do anything for him. Maybe she would help him out. Maybe he would chicken out before he did anything because it was a shitty idea - and it was. He couldn't do that to Jo. She was so good to him.

He spun his story about the last two facilities and how they related to a building they took over full of big wigs and fat security guards to his eager listeners. The guys resounded with laughter that filled the bar. But when he looked over for Jo he saw mister blue eyes talking to her; Dean's heart leaped. He soaked up the humble figure. Eyes work-worn, hands red and roughed up from his first real day of labor, his dark hair ruffled from running his fingers through it. The arch of his back as he dipped into the kitchen was almost pornographic.

Dean gulped. His Jo idea faded at his first thought of putting his hands on that robot. When Kas came by to drop off the beers, he felt those eyes on him and knew when he met them he would give away way too much. And Kas's acute confusion proved him right. He was so screwed.

* * *

_Tricks of the Mind:_

_One_

"I'll bring one more." I glanced at Dean once more before retreating. As quickly as I could I was back behind the bar. I pushed the tray onto the pile and grabbed one more beer from the freezer, its chill making my fingers ache as I fumbled with the bottle opener. Those eyes. Dean's eyes. I couldn't understand him. One moment he was avoiding looking directly at me, and then he filled his eyes to the brim and poured them all over me. I couldn't explain it any more than that – it was a feeling, nothing tangible enough to grasp.

I sighed. These people adored him. He was an idol, a king. A general among soldiers. I looked through the people crowding the bar to see a snatch of his tight-lipped smile among the horde of onlookers. A man like that shouldn't be so… unnerving. His effect on me was unlike the rest of these people. Simple needs. Simple judging. Simple actions. It was easy to tell some were still wary, some just thought I was quaint, and few disliked me entirely. Dean was a mask of concealed feelings. A wall of bombarding questions.

As I went to the group and passed in the replacement beer, I came back to the counter without looking back at him. Had I done something? In the time that I'd been here, I'd hardly had time to be any trouble. Maybe he was angry about going outdoors during lockdown. I continued to wipe down tables and wash dishes, and my eyes kept flickering in his direction. He couldn't be angry. I'd know anger. I would see it in his narrowing eyes. Or the disdain in his words. No, he wasn't angry. But then, what was he? I put some 'elbow grease' as Jo put it, into washing the dishes and thinking about it.

Wiping the sweat from my brow, I paused to lean on the sink. This was tiring. My energy stores were burning out faster than my alternator was replacing it. Ellen came up behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder, which made me jump. "Don't worry, honey," she chuckled. "I'm not gonna make you work anymore. Since it's your first day I'm giving you a break." She took my hand and wrapped it around a cold beer bottle. "Go mingle. You're one of us now anyway." With a wink and a nudge she was gone again, and I looked after her with soft affection in my eyes. I found her very maternal. Maybe that was why she was attached to me.

Then I looked down at the beer perspiring over my hand. Mingle? I put the word through my database search as I sniffed the lip of the bottle. It stank. Recoiling and scrunching up my nose seemed to be an appropriate response. But I couldn't 'mingle' without drinking, right? I pressed the bottle to my lips and tipped it back… and nearly choked. It was absolutely vile.


	12. Chapter 11

_11_

_Rightful Accusations:_

_One_

Weeks passed this way. Early energy recharging every few days. Breakfast. Awkward conversation with Dean and the others. Meeting new people. Then work at the bar until they closed. Ellen stopped giving me breaks, which toughened me up, and every now and then I'd be the last one around scrubbing tables before I went to my room and put my systems on diagnostic until morning.

The wear I was getting from work was very beneficial. It was building up resistance and strength in my new joints, teaching me how to interact, and how to be a cog in the machine. I was useful, and I enjoyed it. So far, I had only overturned one pan of dishes that decimated upon their meet with the floor, and spilled two bottles of 'the good stuff,' as Jo put it. But cleaning them up had been much more difficult than breaking them.

I did not eat, or drink, or otherwise. I could. But since the processing speed of my unused artificial organs was snail slow, I had not yet had to rid myself of the little alcohol and the small bits of food Benny and Sam encouraged I try. There were tutorials on how to. I just hadn't opened them yet. I found I preferred cheeseburgers and tater tots over most human food, though.

On my many trips to the bar and through the facilities, I saw very little of Dean. He was always talking to someone, or on a run, or holed up in his room 'on business,' as Jo put it when I asked. I wanted to see more of him. His unsolved discomfort around me was a subject I could not avoid much longer. I needed to know his true intentions.

Jo also advised me against that. "Dean is a hard case to crack," she explained, "asking him for the truth is like asking a turtle to leave its shell. He plays everything close to the chest. Half of us still don't know anything about him, except what Sam tells us. And even then Sam likes to be vague." I became only more determined. He was just afraid someone would use information about his personal life against him. I certainly wouldn't, and anyway it was me he had a problem with not the other way around.

Benny had brought me to spend time in the armory with Garth, in order to verse me in the art of firearms. In a day or so I was fully aware of all of them. Using them, though, was a different matter. Garth made it clear he'd love to teach me, but Dean had warned him against it just yet. I handled them, cleaned them, reloaded them, unloaded them, but did not fire a single one.

Garth kept my spirits high by being a very clumsy, very character-esque friend. I enjoyed his company and his jokes. We spent spare hours in conversation about culture, various cartoons, and little-known comic books. Often, he described what Dean had done over the past ten years. His missions. The news coverage. The big changes. I would clean a handgun while he told me all about Dean's career as a rebel leader. But not many people knew about what he was like before all this. I was steeled to find out.

More clothes had appeared for me to wear. Always while I was working did they come by – most likely Dean – to drop them off on my desk. Another way to avoid me I suppose. Obviously wearing the same thing all the time was unacceptable, seeing as humans wore different things most every day, so I was not surprised. But what did make me curious was the shape of the clothing given. It was all brand new. Like it had been ordered just for me. Compared to Dean's worn offerings they were much stiffer, and less soft. I wore them to be grateful but my favorites remained the ones I often fell back on wearing. There was just something about those Lee's jeans and the torn collar of that t-shirt that I found comfort in.

This morning was similar to the others. I returned from charging to dress for breakfast, except I found that the pile of clothes I'd worn all week had vanished. All that was left was a pair of light-wash jeans and a soft woven long-sleeve shirt the color of angry storm clouds, with three buttons at the collar. My panic clogged my thoughts. Dean's things had been among the pile taken! My favorite possessions, gone! I searched the room vigorously with no luck. Empty closet, empty desk drawers. I pulled off my old clothes and I pulled on the other ones hastily and hurried to breakfast. Someone had to know my clothes had been taken – maybe the culprit was among them. My clothing just irritated me further. These jeans were a size too large. They fell over my boots with extra material and the sleeves of the shirt were far too long.

Only when I arrived at the cafeteria did I realize how early it was. Barely a handful of people were around the tables, some mulling about with their food, and I checked the clock on the wall. I had spent only a little time outside today, because my batteries were mostly full. Spotting Dean talking to Jo at one of the tables, I headed over and sat down beside them, agitated. Their conversation ceased when I came over. I had interrupted something.

* * *

_Rightful Accusations:_

_The Other_

Kas became a regular. A part of the meshing routine. Not Dean's routine, obviously, but the facilities. He was doing really well with making friends – everybody loved the Android and his shy, serious nature, and the clumsy determination he used to carry out everything asked of him. A few of the younger girls spoke of him pretty highly. But Kas was a hard worker. Obliviously. He hung mostly around Garth these days, him and Sam picking up conversation at meals. Which was good. He was blending.

But someone had noticed the lack of attention being paid to the Android by a certain leader of theirs. He wasn't exactly subtle, after all. Besides a small altercation with Sam over it Dean had found no one else challenging him. But Jo appeared at his door as soon after he'd showered this morning. He left her waiting while he put on boxers and jeans, but after that she'd come in of her own accord.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," she'd replied when he had lifted an eyebrow at her.

Shrugging, Dean nodded and sat shirtless on the end of his bed to pull on black socks. "Ok, fair enough. What's this about?" Last week he'd butted heads with Sam over his limp as well as the way he was treating Kas. But Dean was in charge. He was alpha around here. No matter how good Sam's argument was, Dean was running the facility personally, and that kind of responsibility warranted a bit of weird behavior in his opinion. He had a right.

Jo leaned against the wall as she watched him. "Kas." She replied.

Rising to go to his closet, and trying his best not to limp, Dean glanced over at her. Those dark eyes said she wasn't playing, but her posture said that she thought he was. "Is he all right? What's up? Come on, spit it out." He snapped, a bit irritated that she was being so suspenseful about this.

Her eyes glanced over the scar on his arm before meeting his eyes. "You're ignoring him."

"Seriously?" He asked in exasperation. "Why's it gotta matter to you? I'm trying to get him to integrate here, I can't baby him." He turned away to snatch a shirt and pull it over his head defensively.

"Don't pretend like I don't know you, Dean Winchester," Jo shot back. "You babied _everyone _their first time here. Not only did you personally yank Kas out of a lab like he was born yesterday, but you made him feel like he's some killer, already! He's barely spilled alcohol, Dean. You dropped him on us and keep glancing back but you won't go to him for anything." Dean froze, glaring at her, and she glared right back. "I know you don't think he's dangerous. So that first part is just you being an ass," she continued blatantly, "but the rest of this is about what it's doing to him."

"You think I-" Dean stammered.

"Dean," she interrupted, "he is always, _always_ asking about you. Your life, your health, your interactions with everyone – _you're the only one here who's treating him like he's not_ _one of us!_ He doesn't understand why you're not giving him the warm and fuzzy, and I don't either!" That shut him up quick. He swallowed and Jo crossed her arms. "Mom says he's an absolute angel. If he could stop knocking over whiskey bottles." That loosened Dean's tension a bit. He sighed as he reached for a shirt to sling over his tee, and shook his head as he did. "Dean, he's done nothing wrong."

Dean tied on his boots and led her out, locking the door behind them. They walked to the cafeteria in silence. What could he say to keep her in the dark, but placate her worries? "I know he hasn't done anything wrong." He grumbled as they sat down with their food.

"Then what is it?" Jo pressed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Android approaching.

"None of your business, all right?" Dean sighed. "Look, just, let me take care of it."

* * *

_Rightful Accusations:_

_One_

"My apologies," I said to the both Jo and Dean as they glanced at me furtively from their seats. "I have found most of my clothing is missing, and I am alarmed." My eyes went to Dean, who, as always, was staring at his plate while he pushed eggs around on it. He never looked at me on purpose. "Someone took the jeans and shirts you gave me as well." That got his attention. He looked at me, and the tension in his eyes was blunted by surprise. "I'm sorry." I blurted. "I… I lost them."

"Saturday is laundry day," Jo chuckled from my side. I glanced at her with round eyes. "The clothes need to be washed once a week. A team comes around and collects all the dirty clothes, washes them, dries them, and sends them back." I stared at her in confusion, and she put a hand on my shoulder. "It's ok, Kas. You didn't lose anything. We forgot to add you to the laundry list until yesterday. You'll get all your clothes back tonight, when they finish washing them."

My panic stalled out. I blinked and touched my forehead. "I thought… I…" This was a weekly ritual? Stealing clothes for the day? I turned to her. "My clothes are not… dirty."

She just laughed. "Kas, dirt doesn't discriminate. Human or not, where you sit, what you touch, what goes on your clothing – especially when you work – stains it, makes it dirty. I can tell you right now that you've smelled like beer for the past two days after that guy tipped it all over your pants."

"Oh." I sat back, blinking. "Oh." Why hadn't I noticed? Cleanliness was not a primary function. I should most likely prioritize my systems. I glanced over at Dean, feeling embarrassment heat my cheeks. How childish I'd been. I sought his approval above everything, and here I was having a melt down over hand-me-downs. His freckles wrinkled with a smile that he let slip.

But the moment I caught his soft gaze, he looked away. A chuckle escaped his lips. "We should really give you a schedule of all the shit we pull. Maybe then we'd save you some grief." He sat back a little and slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a few folded pieces of paper. Each one he squinted at and shuffled behind the others until he found the desired one. Then he offered it to me, and I took it gratefully. "This is everything. Our shifts, the jobs, everything. Plans change the shift order during missions, but otherwise we're on that schedule. And… since you're one of us, I updated it. With your shift at the bar." I was reading it over and preparing to thank him when he rose to his feet. "I've got some plans to go over. Jo, please, God, teach him the meaning of a comb today." I watched him leave with his usual passive-aggressive stride. He never left this early. Maybe it was his leg? His limp had hit a point and become a continuous level of painful – it must be stiffening up.

I got the sudden urge to run after him. I wanted to assess his wound, help him heal it. I couldn't control myself. I was on my feet, striding after him, and Jo was calling after me, but I didn't stop.


	13. Chapter 12

_12_

_Confessing Transgressions:_

_One_

"Dean!" I called as I pushed through the cafeteria doors and watched him retreat towards his room. He turned instinctively at the sound of his name, swinging his step like he'd forgotten his leg was hurt. He winced visibly in pain before glancing back to see it was me. "Wait. Please." I added calmly as I strode towards him. "May I speak with you?"

"You already are, Kas," he pointed out. A weight hung on his glance. Every time it touched me, I felt it grow heavier and heavier. He crossed his arms. "What's up?"

I paused when I was in a close enough proximity and looked at the ceiling as intently as possible, thinking this was a test. "Insulated alignment." When I gave him a confused look he was smiling cheekily. Oh. It was… a phrase. "I wanted to apologize, Dean."

The smile faded. He gave me a look that disrupted me. "For what?"

"I… I know I break protocol when I recharge my solar batteries in the morning," I tried. I had to try something.

"Don't worry about that. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?"

"Yes, but…" I pressed my lips into a thin line. "Dean, is there… something I'm doing wrong?" His face took on a softer, guiltier expression that I immediately regretted causing. I didn't know what to say, or do, I just stood there and stared at him like he was a malfunctioning circuit. What had I done now? I felt a stab of guilt myself. He bit his lip and a sigh escaped him.

"Kas," he replied wearily. "Come with me." He turned and kept walking towards his room. I followed closely. I didn't take my eyes off him - I was afraid that if I did, I'd miss something little, something cracking, or morphing into another emotion I was unaware of. We walked in silence. He led me down the halls and opened the lock on his door with experienced hands. Then he pushed it open and stood back, holding out his arm. Motioning for me to come in - into his lair, his sanctuary.

Glancing at Dean, I hesitated only a millisecond before obeying. His was probably a bit bigger than the other rooms, but not by much. His desk was a file of neat papers with the chair pushed in. Used boots and boxes of various things, like books and tools, lined the walls. There was even a lone sink. I stepped by a coat rack, and observed that the bed in the center of the room was neatly made. A shelf above it on the wall – obviously recently put in – was covered in medals and pictures and clocks. He shut the door behind us and sank down on the end of his bed.

I hadn't really realized fully what I'd wanted until I'd actually tried to speak with him, but it was getting clearer. He was walking around hurt and cold to no one except me all this time, when it had been his idea to rescue me in the first place. I wanted to know why. And how I could help. After all, he ruled this facility, and allowed me to live here – I was, if anything, grateful.

I hovered alongside his desk, feeling out of place. Dean wasted no time. He shed his jacket and put it aside, and began to roll up his jean leg over his hurt limb. I watched as the bruising began to appear. It was colored darkly with purples and blues, especially around the contact area, which was probably the width of a baseball.

"Dean," I said softly, and met his eyes. He nodded a bit and flashed me a bitter smile.

"Doesn't feel as bad as it looks, trust me. I've had worse." He pointed to the sink. "Do me a favor? Run a cold tap over half of a washcloth and bring it here." A first-aid kit was pulled from beneath the bed as I did as he asked, finding a pile of washcloths in the medicine cabinet over the sink. It was behind a mirror. I ran the water as cold as it went and unfolded the cloth.

"Why did you let it go this long?" I questioned.

He sighed as he drained the wound and fixed up a bandage and gauze. "I was busy."

"Busy?" I turned off the tap and folded it in half, bringing it to him. It dripped all over the floor. Feeling a stab of confusion, I handed it off to him, looking at the trail I'd made. My cheeks flushed dark red with embarrassment.

He just chuckled and cleaned up the wound with the wet side, dabbing it dry with the other. "I know. Bad excuse." He bound it with the antibiotic cream and a bandage, wrapping it all up in gauze. His layers were neatly placed. He'd done this a million times, I estimated. Maybe a thousand. "Use a dry cloth to mop that up." I nodded obediently and got another dry washcloth, kneeling to clean the water trail off the hardwood. He groaned as he shifted to bring his legs up onto the bed, laying on his back with a sigh. "God, that feels better."

I finished up and tossed the cloths into the sink. A bottle of pain pills caught my eye. "Want something for the pain?"

"No, no. I'll be ok. I'd rather feel it heal." Strange. I turned to look Dean over and affection warmth my circuits. He looked so tired. His hands rested on his stomach, his chest rising and falling steadily, eyes shut, with bags underneath them.

"Would you like me to go?"

"Pull up a chair." Apparently not. I pushed the desk chair to his side and sank into it carefully. He looked like he was trying to sleep; I wanted to let him rest. "I'm not trying to be a douche bag to you, Kas," he said suddenly, and I put the word though my databases but could not identify it. "What I mean is, you really didn't do anything wrong." Turning his head, he cracked his eyes open and looked at me. "You just got born into a situation and you're dealing with it - it isn't your fault why or how it happened. It isn't. Me, don't worry about me. I was concerned about just the 'why' for my own reasons, but… you are innocent, Kas. Even with a couple drinks in you."

I felt a weight lift off my shoulders and glanced at my lap, away from his honey colored eyes. "Thank you, Dean. I was… I was growing concerned that you were angry with me." My eyes flickered to meet his. "May I query as to your reasoning?"

"'Fraid not," Dean smiled. "Not yet, anyway."

I nodded and looked down at my hands, examining the forming callouses. I still didn't understand. But knowing we were in mutual agreement about the subject was very freeing. "Is there anything else I can do?" I questioned gently, but when I looked up, he was unresponsive. Asleep most likely. I monitored his vitals for a few minutes before leaving him be, satisfied that he was resting.

* * *

_Confessing Transgressions:_

_The Other_

Well, escaping long-term conversation with Kas had failed miserably. Not only had he come in early, which Dean had done to try and get in and out before he got there, but he'd been followed out. The kid didn't even eat. He should've remembered. Kas approached him, hair sticking up in every direction, blue eyes soft and needing, and Dean knew his hiatus was over. Jo was right. It was doing something to Kas to see the leader being cruel to him. He didn't deserve it – it wasn't his fault.

He was exhausted and his leg was hurting worse than ever today. He was done walking around on it, it needed to be drained and patched up. And he knew Kas had been watching him walk all week. So he took Kas to his room and shut them inside and sank down onto his bed. With careful fingers he rolled up his pants leg. His shin looked worse than ever.

A soft exclamation of his name made him look up. As if Dean's heart wasn't battered enough by this kid, now he was worried about him. The sweetness in his tone was destroying him. "Doesn't feel as bad as it looks, trust me. I've had worse." Dean replied. He tried to brush it off, giving the guy directions to help out. He told him he'd been too busy to take care of it. Which was bullshit. It had been the only thing between Dean and constant sexual frustration, which was much more humiliating.

Letting pressure out of the wound was painful, but it gave the impression that it was done swelling up. Dean cleaned it up and wrapped it and lay back, sighing. "God, that feels better." He was so tired. At least it would still pain him while it was closing up and healing. He denied pain meds from Kas and waved his hand. "Pull up a chair." Dean explained as well as he could without giving anything away. He was good at that. Kas, on the other hand, was obviously overjoyed that he hadn't done anything to make him angry. He asked why, if not that, had Dean been acting so strangely? But it wasn't the right time for the rebel leader to unload. He put off the question until later. Then in the short silence that followed, he drifted off. Soft words of question only pushed him deeper into the ocean of slumber.

After a while, Dean drifted into REM sleep. He didn't feel anything. Didn't see anything. It was dreamless, and deep, freeing him from stress. His head sifted through the emotion of the day that had been lifted off him; his leg was on the mend as well as his mind. Kas was placated, for the moment. Everything had gone smoothly and ended well. He was weightless. Drifting through the memories getting deleted from his brain, he was happy to see them go, so there was more room for tomorrow. Wait, today. He had things to do later. Now. Later? What time was it? Did it matter? For a while he played on the fact that it didn't, but his anxiety brought discomfort to his drifting. He had responsibilities to tend to. He should wake up now.

Suddenly he was heavy. So, so heavy. He felt his heartbeat in his stomach and the tips of his fingers and stretched his body, groaning as slumber slipped away. He was back in his room again. Weary eyes blinked at the ceiling. That had been a damn good power nap - he was still tired, but he had things to get done, so he'd sleep tonight. Hopefully. Dean sat up slowly, rubbing his face. His good knee brushed the desk chair Kas had left beside his bed. He stared at it blankly. Right. Had he talked to Kas? Or had that been a dream? He couldn't think straight yet. Pushing the chair back into his desk was easy enough. He got up and ran his fingers through his hair and tensed his arms. It had been a long time since he'd fallen asleep when the sun was up. He barely even slept at night these days.

As his nerves woke up they all tingled and pain returned to him. His leg hurt like shit. But it was healing, he could feel it. His boots were heavy as he moved about the room, looking up at the clock. A rock tumbled down his throat and embedded itself into his stomach. It was 9pm. 9? At night? What the fuck? He'd slept all goddamn day! His stomach protested loudly, the acid in it burning his throat, and he knew he needed to eat something right now. Instead, he crumpled into his chair and went to work.


	14. Chapter 13

_13_

_Bonding in a Better Way:_

_One_

Ellen kept asking me why I was so upbeat all day. I was scraping gum off the bottom of the tables and polishing the wooden bar booths 'as happy as a clam,' as Jo put it. She seemed to know something; or, walking around with a little smile on her face made it seem like she knew. I couldn't put my finger on the reason. How was I supposed to explain if I couldn't figure it out? Sort of resolving things with Dean had brought a smile I couldn't get rid of. I just felt… better. Mustering a human habit, a shrug, I would just look at Ellen curiously and she'd shake her head and smile as she walked off again.

Then I'd be back to work, thinking about that conversation I'd had with him, running it over and over in my head. I'd scrub tables and picture the sleepy look on his face. I'd organize dishes and fix chairs and see him chuckle as I handed him the washcloth. I pushed up the sleeves on my woven shirt and mopped up puddles of spilled alcohol. He wasn't angry with me. Not at all. My sore hands didn't seem to even bother me. I slumped back onto a stool when I was finished and I leaned on the bar and just smiled at my reddened hands.

"Honey," Ellen piped from where she was polishing glasses, "you look just like a man in love."

I shifted to balance my heels on the stool and shook my head. "I wouldn't be aware of that frame of mind," I said honestly, but I did sneak a glance at her. "Why?"

"You tell me, Kas." She smiled, arching an eyebrow. "Walking around smiling and sighing like a school girl. Who're you sweet on?"

"He had a word with Dean this morning." Jo suggested this from where she was lounging at a table, waving her sterile rag around. Her smile was a lot more insidious from what I could tell.

Ellen's other eyebrow shot up too. "Really?"

"It is not like that." I protested. "He had been limping all week, I was concerned with his well-being when his health declined. So I approached him." Shifting to give Jo a curious look, I squinted at her. "I helped him with his injury."

"And there was nothing else?" Jo prodded teasingly.

"Of course there was. We spoke." I turned back to the bar and fiddled with my hands.

"There's no shame in it," Ellen put all the glasses away and leaned back against the counter. "That boy hasn't been right since Lisa and him split. And he seems pretty keen on you."

A flutter in my chest lifted my head. "Dean?" The mother and daughter exchanged a look.

"Don't you see how he looks at you? That boy is always picking you out in this crowd. And I see you searching him out, too." Ellen came over and nudged me when I blushed. "No shame, honey. I'm not sure if either of you are swingers for that team, but that doesn't mean you can't try."

I bit my lip in disappointment. "Swingers? Team? This isn't… You don't mean baseball, do you?" The women laughed and Jo came over, hugging me with an arm around my shoulders.

"You're a good egg, Kas." Ellen winked. "No, not baseball. You two are similar souls. Get on Dean's good side, and see where it takes you."

Good side, good side. How did I do that? My head ran through all the possibilities as the day rolled on into night, and the bar was full again. I didn't see Dean. Most likely he was still resting. But it gave me more time to try and think. I finished my work and Ellen let me off early, seeing as I was walking around in a fog anyway, and I left the bar around ten that night.

The halls were empty. All the kids were asleep or playing spin the bottle in the lounge, and everyone else was downstairs. My footsteps echoed off the walls. At least they hadn't taken my boots for laundry day. They were the only comfortable thing I had left, and I wanted to get out of these jeans and this shirt as quickly as I could.

When I was back in my room there was a lavender-smelling pile of my clothes just waiting for me. Relieved, I checked for Dean's things, and they were there right on top. I pulled my used shirt over my head and hung it up in my closet. I wouldn't be wearing it much more, hopefully, with my other things back.

A knock on my door frame made me jump. I spun on my heel, dubiously expecting someone had returned to steal my clothes again, and found to my elation that it was Dean. He was leaning on the door frame and only his staring made me realize I was still without a shirt. "Dean…" My cheeks were getting hotter; the tips of my ears burned with blush. I reached for a t-shirt as he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Sorry, my bad," he grunted. "I was wondering if we, uh, spoke this morning."

I pulled the shirt he'd given me over my head and relaxed as it hugged my torso. Finally, comfortable clothes. "Yes. Why, did you think we hadn't?" He looked a little dazed. Pulling out my desk chair, I offered it to him, and sifted through the clothing pile. Someone had added a pair of dark blue draw-string pants that were far too soft to be durable. I was examining them when Dean took the offered chair, rubbing his hurt leg as he did.

"No, I just was making sure. I lost a lot of time after I fell asleep. It mixed up my schedule. I only got half my work done." While I tugged at the strings on the pants awkwardly, he smirked at me. "Those are pajama pants. You sleep in them."

"Do I?" I questioned.

"You're supposed to." He laughed.

Trying them on sounded like a good idea. I undid my jeans and shed them, earning another stare from Dean as I fumbled with the floppy legs of the pajama pants around my boots. I had to keep tightening the strings so they didn't slip off again. Or show my blue boxer briefs, which I was told is not a good idea. 'Teased the girls,' as Jo put it.

"They're soft." I picked up my used jeans and hung those up, too, banishing them. Shutting the door was like closure. I sat down on my cot and rested my hands on my thighs. My palms moved involuntarily to rub the soft material of my pants, each point of skin contact tingling with the sensation. "Are you any better, Dean?" I asked, and I meant it. He'd been unfriendly before but now he appeared drugged.

He sat back and looked at me from under half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, I am, actually. For a couple reasons." He sighed. "I just came by to make sure we actually did have that little chat, but could you do me a solid and come grab a bite with me? I'm not all the way awake and I could seriously go for a burger right now."

* * *

_Bonding in a Better Way:_

_The Other_

Entirely starving, Dean gave up work after an hour and found that when he got up from his desk that he was very, very drained. He needed help walking. Well, he had to ask Kas about this morning anyway. He should be off work; better swing by his room before fumbling around the cafeteria weak as a newborn. Shutting his bedroom door took quite a lot of effort. Then he was off, shuffling down the hallway, driven only by hunger and will power. He'd only gotten a little of his daily work finished, especially with his head all fuzzy like this. He needed to eat. Or else he'd keel over.

He found Kas in his room changing. Leaning on the doorway, he saw him pulling off his shirt and lifted an eyebrow. Dean had seen plenty of guys shirtless. Plenty. But Kas had built up muscle from work – or whatever it was in Androids – and his hands were pretty roughed up, too. He had an uncannily human feel to his entire body. The way he moved. His skin. His face. And especially his emotions, Dean had never seen a robot with emotions. It was eerie, but Kas was a metal human. That was becoming more and more evident as he lived with them.

Now, Dean could hardly picture guns coming out of his arms and legs, his pretty blue eyes turning blood red as he ran down enemy soldiers. It was impossible to even think about. When Kas turned around, his eyes were wild with fear, it destroyed any dangerous image of himself.

"Sorry, my bad," Dean grunted. "I was wondering if we, uh, spoke this morning."

Relaxed, Kas pulled the shirt Dean had given him over his head. "Yes. Why, did you think we hadn't?" It looked good on him. Trim. He was so calm – almost like an iceberg. At this point whatever was going through Dean's head wasn't going to make sense. Dean sat down in the desk chair and sat back. The kid didn't even know what pajama pants were. How did he not know what pajama pants were? Thankfully, Dean was rubbing his bad leg and making it throb in agony.

"Are you any better, Dean?" Kas asked. He'd caught on to Dean's current weakened state.

Dean sat back and looked at him from under half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, I am, actually. For a couple reasons." He sighed. "I just came by to make sure we actually did have that little chat, but could you do me a solid and come grab a bite with me? I'm not all the way awake and I could seriously go for a burger right now." Before Kas got any more eye-catching, that is. 'Shut up,' Dean grumbled to his head moodily.

The walk to the café was… enlightening. When Kas put his arm around his waist, he got flashes of memories. Those hands. His hair smelled clean, too, although Dean was sure he had never showered, and the week-old alcohol scent still clinging to his skin backed up his theory. It suited him, though. It was much better than that sterile and smoke scent he'd carried with him a week ago. When he was released from the steel-strong arms of the robot, he felt much less at ease. Dean folded his arms on the cafeteria table and rubbed his head while Kas strode off to find sustenance.

What was he getting himself into? He felt drunk, almost, except he was fully aware of his lack of self-control, and even if he was trying – he was too attracted to Kas. It wasn't safe. Being this close to him wouldn't end well. But he had to do this. Just for now. Until tomorrow - then things would go back to normal, he promised himself. They ate together with a shared enthusiasm for cheeseburgers. Conversation went well. Dean managed to focus on his hunger and not on how close Kas was sitting to him. He clarified some unspoken secrecy laws; you know, man to man stuff. Then things took a nosedive.


	15. Chapter 14

_14_

_Pleasantries of the Heart:_

_One_

I half-carried Dean to the cafeteria, slinging his arm over my shoulder to keep him upright. With his heavy steps and his throbbing leg I had an inkling he wouldn't get too far without help. He kept mumbling something about being fine but didn't protest against leaning most of his weight on me. He barely weighed much, though, so I didn't mind. His head swung to glance down the halls we passed. Like he was looking for someone. Sam maybe, or onlookers in general. Anyone to see him being this weak. Our fearless leader, tired and hurt. He relaxed soon after it dawned on him that the floor was deserted and found no problem with gripping my shoulder for support. There was an iron strength in his hands.

Being this close to him only added to my good mood. Even his grumbles made me smile. I had gotten to talk to him twice in one day, so I was over the moon. He wasn't avoiding me anymore. We reached the cafeteria without any trouble. He let me settle him into a table before I headed back into the kitchen to look for hamburgers in the dark back room. Now half of me smelled like whiskey and musk, but it made me feel euphoric and jittery, like my hands were electrified as I picked through the leftovers in the brightly lit fridge. Something was infecting me. I felt like I was running on lithium batteries. But was it what Ellen thought, really? Did that really feel like this?

Popping two cheeseburgers into the microwave, I snatched two bottles of soda from the fridge as well and brought it all out to Dean when the food was finished. I sat down beside him and opened his soda can for him. "How's this?"

He grinned around the lip of his drink. "Perfect. You know, I think I'll keep you."

His moans of happiness began when he started to eat. I bit into my hamburger and savored the heat prickling my taste buds. All around us, the echo of the empty cafeteria and its long, low ceilings held the impression of the dozens of hearts who passed it and out of here every day. I felt the laughter and the jokes. There was even the smell of giddiness hanging around the tables. Somehow, meals always seemed to bring humans together, and give them common ground. Not like they were all almost exactly identical. "How long did you sleep?" I asked after swallowing my first bite.

"All day." Mutual sounds of chewing filled the short silences. "From the end of our conversation until an hour ago. I never sleep during the day."

"That mission took a lot out of you. Going around your routine like always is a good way to readjust from that level of stress, but that kind of strain has to be made up somehow."

"Strain? I've done worse before. Lot worse."

Half my soda was gone already. Coca-Cola was my favorite. I swallowed another mouthful. "Well, it's obvious this particular mission has put strain on more of you than usual. Like your mental psyche, and your emotions."

"What?" Dean spoke with a mouthful of burger. "You can tell that?"

"Of course. Speaking to your friends, I can gather you are acting unusual, coupled with how long you let that injury sit I can assume you're conflicted internally," I took another bite, chewed and swallowed before continuing, "besides the fact that your behavior is so unlike the rest of your people, I can tell the level of conflict you are at, but not its source."

He squinted at me as I sipped my drink. It was empty. "You're somethin' else."

"Preferably," I agreed, finishing off my burger.

Dean shook his head as he wiped his hands on a napkin and reached for his drink. "You know, Kas, I really think you and me are gonna get along." He gave me a furtive look before polishing off his drink. He cradled the can hesitantly. "So you can't tell what it is, right?"

The prick of his hormones changing grasped my nose. I turned and looked him over. His eyes were tinted with fear when I met them. "No, I can't. But if you give me long enough I could gather enough evidence to deduce-"

"Don't do that, man," he replied lowly, and my eyes widened. But his pensive look matched the fear radiating off him. "People don't take kindly to their heads being picked apart. If you know then you know and you don't spread it around. But if you don't, well… it's because they don't want you to." His eyes glanced over my face, and his jaw clenched in agitation. "It's nothing against you, Kas. It's just personal, you know?"

All I could do was nod and look down at my empty plate. Not know the truth? Ever? Well, before he had said 'not yet.' But I was frying ten circuits a minute wondering what it was that made him uncomfortable around me. Beside me Dean shifted and a hand rested on my shoulder, squeezing it.

"That's just how folks are, Kas. And if you keep up this sweet nature of yours maybe people will want to tell you." He worked his jaw. "Maybe I'll tell you." I tore my eyes from the table and his remorse painted a smile onto his chiseled face.

I cleared away the dishes and threw away the cans. Leaning against the wall in the kitchen, I looked down at my hands. Somehow my feelings had shifted. Elation, into anxiety, and something… deeper. Warmer. It filled my fingertips and my toes in my boots and made me touch my arms and chest. I didn't know where it was coming from, but it felt like it was in my blood, touching my skin with red wherever it pulsed. My heart was split open and ached badly. But I liked it. It was like… Fire in my veins. Like I desperately needed to grab and grasp and push my face into someone. Not something, someone. I looked out the narrow window at Dean hunched over the table. Waiting for me. My heart rattled against my ribcage like a bounding rabbit. Him. I wanted him. My hands wanted to leap for his jacket and drag him close and bury my face into his shoulder. Feel his stubble, smell his musk. I pictured his arms around me, his hands on me, like a coffin. Like iron bars. I wanted it so badly I thought I would melt.

I felt like I was unstable or volatile. Like I could meltdown at any minute and not be able to control myself. Panic tore through me like poison. It blackened my eyes, and sucked the life from my limbs, and made my head feel like a helium balloon. Grabbing onto the counter, I staggered, losing feeling in my legs. Each part of lips was soundless gasping. I couldn't hear, couldn't control my legs. My world was contracting and pulsating, my head pitching and whirling without me. I couldn't stop it. My body was not responding. Even my lungs were heaving over and over and nothing was getting in.

Muffled cries of my name. The door bad banged open. Dean. I didn't want to let him see me like this – this was something I'd never felt before. My teeth gritted. Everything was pulsating and it made me feel sick. I fought as hard as I could, but I was trapped inside my own head, useless against the bombardment to my senses. I lost feeling in my arm, then the other one. Falling. I felt my numb body hit the floor on my side and my head bounced against the floor with a metal clang. It jarred my eardrums, shook up my main database. Poison swirled in my gut like pins and needles. I blinked and pressed my cheek to the freezing concrete and saw nothing but black fog, no matter how far open I tried to pry my eyes. Darkness.


	16. Chapter 15

_15_

_Malfunction: _

_The Other_

It was a damn good thing Dean was watching Kas's back. The kid was taking more than a minute to throw away cans, which should have taken five seconds, so Dean turned curiously to look and see if he was ok. He squinted through the narrow glass window. Kas was moving like a puppet. His head bent, and his arms were jerking crazily – did he just stagger into the counter? Worry pushed Dean to his feet. Then the Android doubled over, and he lost view of him through the small kitchen door window.

_"Shit!"_ He hissed. An icicle of fear struck him through the heart. Pushing himself to sprint, Dean shouldered open the door and saw the kid crumbling to the floor. "KAS. KAS?!" He called out gruffly, hitting his knees beside him and lifting his head off the concrete and onto his lap as he spasmed. "Hey! Jesus, _KAS!"_ Nothing. He was lost, far away, his eyes darting back and forth. There was no color in him at all – he went white as sheet, and he wouldn't stop shaking. Like he was having a stroke or a seizure of some sort.

All he could do was sit here and grab him to make him stop shaking and see the life drain from his eyes. He was dying? Jesus, Christ! His head whirled. What could've done this? The food, the sugar in the soda, no – he'd eaten and drank both those things before and had been fine all goddamn week, what the fuck had happened?! There had to be something! Dean gripped Kas's shirt and dread filled his chest as the writhing stopped.

The spasms faded away. He was still. Seconds ticked by, and Dean did not move. He was in shock. His chest constricted. It was wrong. This was wrong. Kas was not dead. No, no, no! "Please," he whispered. Kas hadn't done anything! He had to have an angel watching over him. Every kid did. Right? He was just a kid! Time ticked passed. Slowly. So slowly. His heart began to shatter.

Suddenly Kas's eyes snapped shut and scared the shit out of him. Then, slowly, Kas's color returned. Pink touched his ears and his nose and his cheeks. Dean looked over to see his fingertips moving. And when he looked back to his face, he was looking down into those ocean blue eyes, blinking like he had just had a nightmare. Dean would have thanked God but he was too shocked. "Kas," he whispered, wild with fear. "Jesus Christ, are you ok? Please, please tell me you're ok. I almost had a friggin' heart attack when you hit the floor, and your eyes-"

With reaction skills amazing for anything, let alone a malfunctioning robot, Kas's arms flew up and yanked him to the floor. Dean was staring at the linoleum sideways before he could protest. He vaguely remembered crying out on his way down but that couldn't have been him. Then, almost in slow motion, he felt arms wrap around his neck and a face bury into his shoulder. The pull of stubble against his throat prickled his senses; a nose squashed against his jawline forcefully. Kas curled into him just like that, and it stirred up ancient memories and amplified them beyond his capacity to ignore.

The intensity of sheer need to comfort Kas immobilized him. A shudder passed through his whole body. All the affection he'd been holding back for years cracked his fortification and spilled messily into his limbs: Dean fingers went hungrily into Kas's hair, threading through it and indulging in its texture as he wrapped his arm around the figure crushing against him. The embrace fed a staggering need in him for human touch. He couldn't control what tumbled out of his mouth as he lay cradling a man he was hopelessly enamored with; all he felt was the desperate fear in his grasp. Dean kissed Kas's cheek as hard as he could.

He was going to kill him later.

* * *

_Malfunction:_

_One_

When I awoke, 15.67 seconds had passed. The smell of potent fear and adrenaline spiked me to life. Dean. He was holding me up. My fingers tapped against the floor experimentally. I was intact. I cracked open my eyes and looked dizzily up at Dean, who was staring at me as if I'd just survived an exorcism, his hands holding fistfuls of my shirt and my upper body in his lap. I had nearly stopped his heart as well as mine. My back up systems fired up my core and began to bring the rest of my body back from the dead. I had done a manual shutdown in order to shake the malfunction, and it had worked. Everything was coming back with regular readings - if a bit shaken up - and my head was running automatic emergency diagnostic.

But it had not fixed everything. It had scared me out of my mind. I'd never been out of control of my body like that. Stuck inside, suffocating, limp as a dead fish. Dean must've seen the emotion blossoming across my face but there was nothing else I could do except… react. I was too shocked.

"Kas," he whispered, wild with fear. "Jesus Christ, are you ok? Please, please tell me you're ok. I almost had a friggin' heart attack when you hit the floor, and your eyes-"

Putting every twitch of inhuman strength I had into my rebooting arms, I reached up and grabbed him, pulling him down onto me. With a cry of surprise he came tumbling alongside me on the floor. I knew the exact pressure to use in my arms without damaging him and I used it all, burying my face into his shoulder and wrapping my arms around his neck. The fire ripping a hole through my heart shredded my chest into blazing bits. But it was what it wanted. I immediately felt safer.

Dean shuddered like my touch had opened a locked door inside his chest and then melted into me. He pushed his nose into my ear and threaded his fingers into my hair, clutching me back with all the power of his fear and something else. I felt like my body knew him – the imprint of him against my side, the touch of his fingers against my scalp and spine, the rise and fall of his chest, even the curve of his throat. He radiated like warm sunlight.

"God, Kas, its ok," he kept saying, his voice low and rough, and it hurt my heart to hear him being so compassionate. It was so foreign - all I was used to were sarcastic comments and grumbling. His touch and his murmurings into my ear helped drag me off my hysteria, and it faded gradually. With force and revere Dean turned his face and kissed my cheek. "You're just fine, Kas. I've got you," he murmured, and my cheeks flushed. I blinked until my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and looked up at him. He was so close. The charred remains of my heart were bleeding profusely with affection for this man. Why? I didn't understand. I didn't want to let go either, but I had my grip on reality again. I had to release him. Slowly, I untangled my arms from around his neck, touching his chest with my fingertips gingerly. I stared at his shoulder as I measured each breath precisely against his in order to continue calming down. My eyes were shut as I inhaled his scent and the material of his shirt soothed my tingling fingertips.

**_"_****_Deeean_****_."_** It came out buzzed and corrupted. I re-calibrated my voice. "Dean," I tried again, and this time it was normal. "I am… I am so…"

"Forget about it. Don't apologize. If you're ok, it's ok. Wait, are you gonna be ok? Should I go get someone? I don't know man – a nurse, a mechanic, Sam?" Dean rambled.

"Sam." I repeated. "He's the only one who comprehends my make."

"Ok. Ok." Fumbling into his pocket for his phone, he flipped it open and hit speed dial, pushing it to his ear as he looked me over. It rang dully.

His hand was still cradling my head. His fingers moved, shifting, putting a pleasant pressure on my scalp. I could go into a cycle of unconsciousness in his arms. I drew closer to him, touching my nose to his throat, and shut my eyes. Relax. Relax. I could move again. I was unharmed.

"Sam? I need you. Right now. Kas just had some sort of seizure. Yeah, in the cafeteria kitchen." With a muffled word of acknowledgement from the other line, Dean hung up and pushed his phone back into his pocket. "Kas? I'm gonna need you to sit up for me, all right?" His hands drew off me. I missed them immediately.

He was asking me to move? Now? God, I didn't want to. He drew his legs out of mine and took my hand off his chest, wrapping it in his own. I squeezed my eyes shut as he helped me get into a sitting position. The cold air wrapped around me with his body heat missing; I forced my eyes open so I could look at him. His face was set in stone. My hand lifted out of his and touched his cheek, making his jaw clench and his eyes betray him.

"You can hear me, right? And see me?" He pressed. I nodded. "Are your arms and legs ok?" Another nod. "Say something, Kas."

I squinted at him. "Thank."

He blinked. "Thank?"

"Is that incorrect?" His face cracked a smile like I hadn't seen on him yet. He fixed my shirt and smacked my arm lightly.

"You're a real jerk, you know that? Keeled right over on me. Dragged me to the floor. Jesus."

"No, I'm Kas."

"I'm gonna kill you, Kas. How does a robot faint, anyway?"

Sam busted through the door then. After that, it was a lot of rapid talking and lifting hands. Sam picked me up like I was nothing. The ground rushed away very fast. Then we were moving. "Dean, don't forget Dean," I articulated groggily.

"He's right behind me, Kas. Wanna tell me what happened?" Sam's monster steps jostled me like a rag doll, but his chest was very comfy, I'll give him that.

"No," I grumbled. I just wanted to be back in Dean's arms.

He barked a laugh. "Dean, he's turning into you. Got your sense of humor already."

"God I hope not, one of me is enough," Dean shot back, from over Sam's shoulder.

Sam brought me into Dean's room and lay me down carefully on the bed. A long night of hooking me up to a computer and printing my readouts from the attack commenced - Sam organized the piles, and Dean sat close by me while I recovered. Their low voices were very soothing. Eventually they let me go into a cycle, and I was unconscious to the world. Inside my head I replayed that embrace. Each point of contact, how easily we fit together… and I made a mental note to tell Dean that his touch reminded me of the sun - it warmed me all the way up and soaked right up into my flesh, just like it belonged there.


	17. Chapter 16

_16_

_ Elbow-Deep in Foggy Definitions:_

_ One_

Everything felt so much… heavier. Since the first time I found myself to be born, I've been feeling this way. I think it's the weight of humanity. I'm becoming more and more human every day, every moment. I found my smile only yesterday and I feel it's transformed a lot of what I think; when I see Jo I'm elated; when I see Ellen I'm warmed; when I meet Benny, and Garth, and Sam in the halls, I identify with them. Like we're friends.

Are we? We haven't been around each other long, but I think we are. They smile when they see me and pat my arm and nudge me when they talk. I return their half waves as they stride off smiling. They're all important to me.

I was an Android made of clockwork. The click and whir in my chest wakens my core, brings me out of sleep mode, so that all my circuits are connected to the flow of electricity built up by my alternator the previous day, charged while I was in motion. And at work I got plenty of motion. So my eyes were opened and my chest heaved with cleansing air and my internal energy stores said that I could wait a while to charge my solar panels again. My fingertips were coated in resin like skin, but beneath, my bones were metal. My frame was bound together with the exact purpose of being able to withstand a thousand tons of pressure, while still being able to unfold and open so an internal problem can be reached. My lungs were artificial filters. My organs were accurately calibrated.

My entire body was planned and mapped out and tested and smoothed and created from scratch. I was supposed to be perfect.

But I felt _heavy,_ like a physical manifestation of a burden, like knowledge and experiences as a human - I had stubble that grew, dusting the planes of my face and neck, and a nose sensitive to both faded and strong smells. My eyes were constantly dueling with the bright facility lights. I was clumsy, knocking over bottles and mopping up spills all the time in the bar. I had a favorite shirt, favorite jeans. Every touch of my fingers brought information and warmth into my databases. Cheeseburgers were my favorite taste, besides the tang on my teeth after drinking an entire can of Cola. When Sam spoke to me I felt an immense gratitude and admiration, as well as with the others. And Dean. I _craved _his touch, like a drug addiction - his attention was like sunlight touching my skin; his approval like a sunrise. I had wants and likes and dislikes.

What am I? Not a machine, certainly. Machines do not wish for human contact, or sunlight, or wonder at souls. They do not feel the inclination to reach out and push the crumbs from the corner of someone's mouth just to care for them. They do not run their hands over their bodies and wonder at their shape and curves. They are not self-aware. I marveled at being without clothing and I liked the feeling of a cheeseburger in my teeth and I worked hard for Ellen and Jo, not because every task I performed had to be perfect, but because I _wanted_ to work for them.

I look human and I was made to be a machine, but what have I become?

After this rousing and pensive train of thought, I was lifted entirely out of sleep mode and was awakened. My artificial eyes blinked rapidly. The ceiling was unfamiliar… as was the bed. These walls were not mine. This blanket did not belong to me. The hands of panic clawed at my heart. Where am I? I felt the sensation of falling. Quickly, I used my other senses. I heard the tick of a few clocks on the shelf overhead. I inhaled deeply. I smelled… Dean. I blinked. It was Dean's blanket, Dean's bed.

I melted. Thank goodness. It was just Dean's room. I had almost forgotten about my malfunction last night. The readouts Sam had would offer a possible solution to my problem, and being here was very comforting. Although, it did make me curious. Why didn't he put me back in my room? I mean, we came here for the printer and the laptop, but I was harmless while unconscious. Why not return me?

Accompanying my other senses was the feel of a body beside me. I turned and glanced over at the sleeping human - only now realizing, that if I was in Dean's room, in his bed, under his blanket, then most likely it would also be rational to think that he would be there as well. And I was correct.

A rush of chemicals sent my current fritzing and pushed a blush into my cheeks as I marveled at him. He looked so much softer and tired than he ever had. After last night he'd just shed his jacket and collapsed alongside me, I suppose, on his back with his hands resting on his stomach. His head was turned away from me on the pillow. Sitting up, I leaned over to examine him more closely. The exhaustion evident in him had required more rest – even after sleeping all day yesterday. He was in a t-shirt wrinkled around the waist, and worn-out jeans that hugged his thighs. I swallowed.

His profile was profound against the shadows cast on the floor with deep chestnut in the hardwood and the soft tan of his face contrasting. All his aesthetics were aligned perfectly to disrupt my circuits. He had to be striking for a reason. There had to be a cause to my physical upset. I ran the probability based on his skin color, hair color, and skeletal structure, and came up… inconclusive. A frown touched my lips. He couldn't be striking simply because I thought he was so, could he?

I sighed quietly. Watching the rise and fall of his chest was almost hypnotic. His shirt contracted around his lean chest, lifting it slightly, then pushing the old air back out again. A constant dance of life and recycled air. Why couldn't things always be like this? Well, not personal malfunctions and crisis, but… How do I describe it? Dean and I were both male. So far, there hadn't been any same sex couples here that I had observed. Maybe there were a few in private. But that's what I felt. I didn't understand why or how it was supposed to work. He was so stubborn; walking around like I didn't exist until I was in the room, then it was like we were magnets of opposite polarization. But I could do nothing but picture offering him affection and receiving it in reply. Did he feel this too? Was he afraid of it, maybe?

Settling back into place, I stared at the ceiling intently. Maybe if I snatched just a few moments of this time into my memory very vividly I could relive it again sometime. Every detail on Dean's face and body was etched into my database. Every wrinkle, lip curve, eyelid flutter, every inch of denim, every curl of his fingers… I rubbed my face. That feeling of sharp need roared back to life; my hands ached to run along his torso and legs. I wanted to trail my lips along his collar and rest my cheek on his chest, the smell of his shirt filling my head. I pictured the density of his thighs beneath my palms and seriously wished that I hadn't. But there was no helping it.

A grunt and a sigh that did not belong to me shook me from my dreams. With a small feat of klutzy strength Dean was shifting to roll off his back and onto his side. I held my breath, willing myself to be entirely still, lest I wake him and break the moment. I shut my eyes tightly. 'Please don't notice me,' I pleaded. 'Please don't make me leave.' A heat radiated very close alongside me, though I didn't feel brave enough to peek yet.

Something touched my shoulder and anxiety prickled my chest. I cracked one eye open cautiously. Dean had not woken up. He was still heavy in slumber, with his handsome frame leaning against mine, his face clumsily pressed into my shoulder. A hum escaped his lips that took on a broken, foreign melody. I breathed a sigh of relief. His fragrance drifted around my head and rushed through my senses and need soaked into me. If he didn't move, I'd be drunk in minutes.


	18. Chapter 17

_17_

_Apparitions of the Past, and the Present:_

_The Other_

After the crisis last night, Dean didn't remember much. He remembered getting Kas up off the floor and into his room with Sammy's help – he remembered watching the android as he drifted off to sleep, looking gaunt and pale. Snatches of conversation from his brother. And he remembered making sure Sammy wasn't looking when he carded his fingers through Kas's hair once, twice maybe, before Sam picked up his things and declared he had translating to do, thus leaving them alone. What Dean also did not remember was falling asleep, or lying down, or even moving away from Kas's side; he dreamed all night that he was just sitting like he had been, combing his hair with his fingers like he was a damn human hairbrush. And over and over, he pictured those blue eyes sliding open, smiling up at him, and saying, _"Dean." _In the softest, lamest voice he could imagine.

It was tragic, how much his heart throbbed with the idea that Kas might actually do that when he woke up - just once. Just one time, and Dean's entire existence will have been completed. Point A to point B. Done. He'd die happy. And that was really, seriously fuckin awful. I mean, it felt worse than it sounded, but can you imagine that? Dying happy because someone showed the slightest glint of affection towards you? It was bad enough he was treating the guy coldly to avoid it, but now he was dreaming about it, too. There was just no escaping this. He was trapped.

Inside his head, Dean covered his face with his hands. The Kas on his lap faded away. The warm weight was gone, and a crash of waves over him made him realize how much he'd wanted to hold onto that body with all his might. His face twisted up behind his palms. What was he going to do? He was in love. In love with a machine wrapped in skin and hair and ocean blue eyes. His head was battling fiercely in a war to defend himself from all the emotional trauma, but his heart was so… _weak._ Those hands, that stare, he just… _Jesus_, it was so pathetic! Like struggling harder and harder in a vat of quicksand - you know you're done for, and trying harder just makes it worse in every possible goddamn way. It was hopeless. He was hopeless.

_"Geez, Winchester,"_ came a familiar voice tickling his neck; a sound as lovely as crashing waves over white sand, pushing seaweed onto the coast_. "I've never known you to give up on anything." _

_"Yeah, well, if you saw the competition you'd be singing my praises for lasting this long,"_ Dean retorted glumly. He had always felt nostalgic at the beach, for whatever reason. _Crash._

Warm hands slid around his waist and pressed against his stomach, long-nailed fingers kneading his t-shirt. He felt water lap at his toes. _"That's possible, but not likely. I hate to see you give in to anything." Crash. _The smell of Claire De Lune perfume floated around his head like a halo as a kiss was pressed to his shoulder. _"Get your head in the game, Dean. Buck up."_

Dean clenched his jaw_. Crash. "I'm at my breaking point."_ He pushed at her hands and drew away from her body and turned to look into those sad, dark eyes, and a beautiful face framed by rich dark curls. The gentle sea breeze made them quiver. _"I never loved you. But I needed you, Lisa, and you left me."_

Folding her thin arms and hunching her shoulders in a shrug, she looked him over. _"I wasn't going to stay with a man who didn't love me. We loved you, but you were only ever half with us." _Lisa smiled at him. _"Out of all the women you stole hearts from, what did you expect to get in return?"_

_"Not much. Sympathy, at the very least,"_ Dean shot back. _"I never did anybody wrong."_

Lisa shook her head so her curls shone._ "You loved me the most. Out of all of them – out of all those pretty girls you could've had on your arm. You didn't need me, Dean. You needed me to leave."_ Dean stared at her, but her smile only grew, and her dark eyes only drew him out like the tide with their forlorn darkness, drowning him. _"And sorry to say that in the wronged department, Amelia just may say differently."_

* * *

_Apparitions of the Past, and the Present:_

_One_

Unfortunately, moments later I noticed signs of Dean coming out of REM sleep. He was in the last stages. His most vivid dreams would occur now – if I watched closely enough, I could track his eyes as they moved rapidly beneath his eyelids. I felt his heart rate speed up through the cheek pressed to my shoulder. Color rushed to his face. The flutter of his lashes over his freckled cheek cast thin shadows over them, and his brow began furrowing. I frowned. These were signs of stressful dreams – his breathing hitched and became more rapid, rushing oxygen to a sleep-heavy brain; he would soon awaken, most likely upset. This made me feel a small swell of concern.

A shudder passed through my body when his hands reached out for me, fitting into the curves of my waist like they knew just where I was. Like they'd been there before. My chemicals felt like a blender tossed casually on blitz mode. The flannel over-shirt gave under his hot palms, his alarming heart rate and bodily reactions drawing a yearning from my flesh. I felt possessed, owned. Dean picked this moment to finish awakening. His eyes snapped open wide and shrank to squint at once, alarm rippling through him and right to his hands, which gripped me rather tightly in a motion I like to think was protection. Of course… that was before he recognized me. Then his eyebrows flew way, way up.

"Jesus, Kas!" He grunted, yanking his hands back and back-pedaling. I would not have recommended it in his state of mind and was about to mention so when he fell unceremoniously off his own bed in a tangle of sheets. His hands were a sorely missed warm weight on my sides. I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and sat up, throwing off the covers in order to squirm over and see if he was all right.

"Dean, are you hurt?" I asked, seeing him groan as he unbound himself from the blankets and sat up, rubbing his face with both hands.

"I'm ok, I'm ok," he grumbled, obviously humiliated. "How long have you been there?"

I blinked. "All night."

"Great." He did not sound pleased, which stung.

"Should I… not be?"

Lifting his eyes at last, he seemed to drink me in. There was no anger there. "No. You're fine, Kas. I'm sorry. I just…" Gentle teeth chewed at his lip. He looked away. "Jesus. It's just, Sam told me I talk in my sleep. And you know, I can't control what comes outta my mouth." A chuckle eased the tension between us and I relaxed. "Sorry for the grab. I… I thought you were someone else."

"I can assure you I only gathered one word from your sleep rambling, and I believe it was a holy swear," I consoled. "And there's nothing to be sorry for."

Dean laughed and flung his arms a bit. "Damn relief, too." He grinned at me sleepily and got to his knees, rising to his full height in no time. Thoughtful hands bunched up the cast off sheet and returned it to the bed, then he lifted them over his head and stretched, another soft groan escaping him.

I caught myself admiring the twist of his muscles and turned away to get up onto my feet as well. Clumsy hands pushed at the wrinkles in my shirt and struggled to fix my pajama pants. "What was Sam's conclusion last night, Dean?"

"Not much." He walked around the bed and pulled on his jacket, sitting down to tie on his boots. "Your memory that recorded the malfunction was inaccessible for a long time. He had to dig for a while before he got anything tangible, and even then it's in computer garble. He's translating it now."

My heart sank. This uncertainty was terrifying. Still, there was nothing to tell me what had happened? How did I prevent it again? How did I know I wasn't going to break down again? Looking down at my hands, a prickling feel of dread weighed down my chest and my legs, making it difficult to conceal the worry pushing down my shoulders.

Dean got back to his feet and glanced at me while crossing the room to the sink. "Hey, don't worry," he objected, lifting something from the medical cabinet and coming over to me. I looked into his soft green eyes as he came toe-to-toe with me. "We'll take care of it. We'll take care of you. I'm sure it's nothing but an easy fix - a wrench, some elbow grease, and you'll be good as new."

His charming smile softened my worries, but his close proximity was very strange. I glanced at his hand. "What are you doing?" I questioned, and he lifted it for me to see what he held.

"Combing your damn hair," he shot back, like a challenge, and I stared at him. "I'm sorry, man. I can't take it. Your hair is a mess. Just… Don't move, ok?"

I nodded cautiously. What was… combing? It involved my hair? Another new motion to document. Would it… hurt? I watched the small blue plastic contraption in his hand like an animal watches a rigged trap. Obviously it was a regular occurrence to humans - and they _were_ quite fragile. I trusted Dean, too.

Motionless, I saw him lift the 'comb,' and he began by pushing its spiny arms into my thick tangle of hair. I shuddered at the foreign feel. Each rake across my scalp elicited a shower of endorphins that was incredibly surprising. Except the snags of tangled knots in my never-touched locks, the combing was very pleasant. It dragged my unruly hair along, freed it from its own incarceration, and left it feeling fresher and much lighter. Dean was very gentle, using his other hand to touch my temple, or move my chin a certain way, and once he was done with the top he reached around and used it down the back of my head to tame the knots there.

In no time, he was done, and took me by the shoulders and turned me to face his mirror. I barely recognized my cranium. Soft brown locks curled down over my forehead and at both my temples, tickling my cheeks. The lack of flatness and tangle of my hair was shocking. Stepping closer to my reflection, I leaned in, reaching to touch the soft spike he had pushed my hair down the center. I looked so… neat. "Fascinating," I breathed. "Combing."

I saw him smiling in the mirror behind me, but before he could reply, we heard shouting from the hallway. I never saw anything move so fast. Dean bolted to the door and flung it open. Sam appeared, snaring his arm, and I plunged after them as he yanked Dean into the thick upheaval of the crowd.


	19. Chapter 18

_18_

_More Than a Minor Hitch:_

_One_

The usual roar of crowds around the facility was eerily absent from the huddled throng of soldiers, their faces pushed up as closely as possible to the biggest television in the facility. One of the only ones, in fact, it was in the main lounge area of the family room hall mounted up on the back wall. The room was packed with every soul onboard this anti-android crusade - which was not a good thing, in case you haven't ever tried navigating a horde of war-hardened people. This was where Sam was stomping through in order to get Dean to the front as the international news channel reporter blasted over the hush. Behind him, I struggled against the bodies as well, with much more difficulty seeing as I wasn't using nearly as much brunt force as Sam.

"Outta the way," Dean shouted impatiently, a deafening gunshot of noise over the stillness. A ripple went through everyone present. Even Sam released him obediently as the people parted, shrinking back to let the rebel leader through. Without delay Dean was at the front of things, staring into the TV with anxiety in his eyes. I followed closely and drew up beside Sam, both of us looking over one of Dean's shoulders. Since I was a mite bit shorter I got up close in order to get the full visual effect. My eyes widened at the glow of the screen.

_"Tonight on the scene of this debacle is leading reporter Scarlett Amy,"_ the terse brunette sitting behind the desk said, her red lipstick far too bright. The camera switched to a live feed where a ginger woman was standing rigidly outside the building they had rescued me from. Deep in my gut, I got a very unsettling feeling. _"Scarlett, can you tell us more about our newest development?"_

_"Icarus Incorporated has been recovering for over four weeks from what they had reported as a terrorist attack on their facilities, Natalie,"_ the ginger woman replied adamantly. _"A portion of the building was taken out with explosives, and the terrorists themselves even infiltrated the building itself, searching to steal a product Icarus claimed they had not gained possession of. Our latest update is the former CEO's wife, Amelia Novak - the company's new figurehead - formally voicing the misplacement of one of their top secret projects, apparently worth billions in tax payers' dollars, during a press conference just this morning."_

With a flash that made me jump, the screen shifted to the press conference, where a woman with dark eyes and conservatively kept dirty blonde hair was speaking at a podium in front of a large audience of cameras and reporters. Her expression was small and foreboding as she looked raptly into the camera lenses. _"Our company has searched the entire building, and because of staff mistakes, we were unaware until now that a very important part of our research was indeed confiscated at the time of the attack on Icarus Incorporated. A project worth most of the company shares in global peace, technology innovation, and funds."_ I felt my head begin to spin. Peace? Me? Amelia Novak was talking about me? _"It is vital that we recover this technology before it is compromised or damaged beyond repair," _she continued, _"and so, as a result, Icarus Incorporated is issuing a five million dollar reward for the return of this stolen project – fully intact, and delivered to us safely. Thank you."_

In the midst of a chaotic din she had just created, Ms. Novak retreated from the podium and another man took over questioning. Before he could speak, though, the camera flashed back to the brunette reporter, who looked just as surprised as they were. _"Scarlett, are you telling me this missing 'research' has just been overlooked for the four weeks since the incident?"_

Back to the ginger_. "That seems to be the case, Natalie, and not only is it research, but there is a rumor that the project itself is indeed highly sophisticated technology – weapons technology." _The camera drew in on her pale face as she walked along the gates guarding the building behind her, cradling the mic with a fierce determination. _"What will this mean for the integrity of that sensitive project? Has it been destroyed already, with the delay, or is it in the hands of terrorists who plot against our great country? And what threat does it pose? Back to you, Natalie."_

Dean turned at once and walked away. At first, no one moved to follow. They were all in shock. Then, snapping from a trance, I scrambled after him, and Sam followed shortly after, as did a few other senior members of the group. The rebel leader stalked briskly all the way to the meeting room, where we all piled in. The room was crowded in seconds. Dean paced anxiously by the front chair as the others gathered into their chairs around the long table, whispering to each other in hushed tones. The room was bright and pale and the carpet was very dark as a contrast. All eyes were turning from their leader to their recent trophy, me, and back again. I sank into a chair behind Sam, using him as a shield against my current confusion and the rest of the congregation's piercing stares.

"He shouldn't be here," Rufus, an older man, snapped from his position across from me, pointing accusingly into my face. "This is about him."

"Which is exactly why he should be here," Sam argued. "Kas is one of us, he's in this now."

"That _thing_ is the reason we're all on _the most wanted list_ now!" Rufus exploded angrily. "Saving his ass is what'll get us and all our families splattered all over the goddamn ground!"

Not far away, Garth was shaking his head slowly, staring at the table. "Five million on our heads. Five mil. Every bounty hunter from here to Timbuktu is going to be on the next flight to the US to track us down." He whispered. I stared at him, feeling a dizziness wash over me. All of this was happening because of me.

As much as I wanted to be a part of this to help fix it, I was feeling extremely strange again, and that was alarming. It wasn't nearly the same as last night – but I felt pressed in, like a car crusher in a metal recycling plant. I was the station wagon with a blown head gasket and all these onlookers were the merciless metal walls.

"Damn right," another man grumbled. "We'll be dead before next week."

"Shut the hell up!" Dean snarled from his position behind his chair. His hands white-knuckled the back of it as he leaned over, bristling, daring them to speak up. There was fire in his eyes. "Whether or not Kas is a part of this is not under discussion. He's here to stay, so whatever we decide to do, he gets a voice in it. It's him we need to protect too, not just ourselves." I felt my heart clench in my chest and wrung my hands in my lap; Dean was sticking his neck out for me, and I wasn't sure how the others would react. "We've spent long enough with him to know he's not just some tinker toy - he's a goddamn _person_ in a _metal suit_. That's why we got into this in the first place, remember?" Those green eyes flickered over me so briefly that I almost missed it. "No, what we need now is a plan of action. Like Garth said, we'll be on everyone's radar, not just half of everyone like before. We can't do anything, we can't see anyone - we can't even sneeze without someone somewhere listening for the echo. And that changes everything around here."

"What do we do?" Sam questioned grimly. Everyone else around him, including me, fell silent and turned their eyes on Dean. Even the older men were awaiting orders. All of us: solid, frozen, obedient soldiers, on the brink of war.

Dean's cold expression was edged. "We pack up, and split up, and get the hell outta dodge," he answered, in a low voice rumbling with thunder. "And we keep on keeping on."

* * *

_More Than a Minor Hitch:_

_The Other_

Things had taken a turn for the worse. Not only did Icarus Inc. acknowledge that their tech was stolen, which they shouldn't have done – now there would be investigations into what it was, possibly revealing it to be the illegal humanoid they'd created and creating a political uproar – but the entire company had put a bounty on the heads of the rebellion. And everyone knew they'd pay up. So there was no doubt that a whole shit ton of trained killers and even more morons with shotguns would be out looking for them now. Dean paced around his room, the door shut and locked, rubbing his face and thinking feverishly.

They thought they'd be able to assimilate Kas until he wasn't recognizable as a robot anymore. Give him a transmitter-blocking device, then they'd bring him in as a soldier, maybe use him as their weapon instead, to help the cause. They had an identity lined up for him and paperwork and everything.

Obviously Icarus Inc. had lawyers and big money – enough to pay off some big wigs to say it was a gun or something, instead of a person. But Dean hadn't thought they would want to invite that red tape into their business. The world would get suspicious. They'd be investigated by officials from every human rights activists that could crawl through their air vents. Were they ready for that? Maybe, maybe not. It was too late to go back now. Apparently, he'd underestimated their balls. They were gonna walk around like they'd done nothing wrong, secure their secret, and wait for some bounty hunter to bring them Dean Winchester's head and KAS-2Y5 on a silver platter. _Damn._

Before, the rebellion had only been on the radar of people who they'd either paid off or won over to their side – people who would help mask them, cover up anything in case anyone ran across them by accident, and make them invisible again. They had damn good people. But would those people keep them hidden, or prefer five million big ones?

Dean was not going to take that chance. He'd already had their next mission planned for a while now – just working out the kinks would have to wait until it was in action. But he didn't want to do this now - the boys had just settled in, and their whole family had just finished their first big, successful mission together. They weren't ready. He hadn't broken anyone in because it was a total secret. And he planned on keeping it that way – but how could he now? How could he just push on?  
Didn't matter. He had no choice. Cursing the company up and down, he knew he should get Lisa on the phone and desperately didn't want to. He knew that she would know something was up with him. He wasn't at the top of his game. Would that endanger his men, his families? Maybe. But he couldn't help it. This had happened now of all times, to him of all people, when he'd finally decided to connect with Kas, and maybe explore why the hell he was such a mess over him. There was a way for him to put it aside and get the job down and he would find it. He didn't want Lisa butting in, but he knew it was more than personal now.

Two knocks at the door. Turning, Dean wrenched it open, looking in irritation to see who it was. Sam stood there holding paperwork and looking very sheepish. "What, what is it?" Dean snapped.

"Good news. I figured this thing out with Kas - and I figured you could use a break. You've been in there for hours," Sam offered.

"Yeah." Dean sighed. "Yeah, ok." He stepped back and Sam followed him inside.

"Oh, and uh-" Pausing, Sam cleared his throat. "Kas is asleep outside." Leaning out into the hall, Dean looked down to see the android resting against the wall, eyes shut, right beside his door. His heart throbbed. Gently he shut the door again. "Let him sleep. Tell me what you found." He said grimly.


	20. Chapter 19

_19_

_The Key to Realization:_

_One_

I was unsure of what to do after the meeting. Dean was angry, so I tried to follow him to make sure he was all right, but he shut himself up in his room immediately after we adjourned. Obviously he didn't want to see anyone. So, I sat down beside his door. I looked down at my hands forlornly. It was my fault everyone was in so much danger. The reason Dean was under so much stress. I had just started to break ground with him socially, and now… I leaned my head back, heaving a very human-like sigh. What did Dean mean, pack up and split up? What was he planning to do? They wouldn't be separated, would they? He had never been away from Sam and Dean. The very idea was ground shaking. No, Dean would want to keep an eye on him, and Sam was his brother. He wouldn't send them away. So that much was certain, but that was just about all that was certain.

And my attack last night. I was flawed, or damaged somehow - I had to be. What other kind of explanation was there? I mean, would that affect the mission, too? I would make sure it didn't. I'd control it, if only to put less stress on Dean. Sorely I wished Sam would finish his translation.

My eyes slid shut. I was very heavy again. I felt my limbs and my torso and my head like weights I had to keep track of. If there was anything about being human that I saw as becoming difficult, it had to be the uncertainty of it all. At least in numbers and figures there was a definite ending. Calculation was easy enough. Living? That was entirely more complicated. All this uncertainty. Not knowing where I'd be next, or what the cause of this problem was, or how to talk to Dean, or how to live and belong when I was part human part machine like some movie-made cyborg.

I was too stressed. I needed a relaxation cycle. Humming lightly, I chose a two-hour program from my board options. That would be sufficient. I sank into it, releasing my thoughts and my worries to the system cleanout feature in my memory chip. It rifled through everything and cleared out all my anxieties and preserved my memories. One stuck out to me, though, and I rifled through them until it became clear. I plucked it up to study it. The memory from this morning - Dean asleep against my shoulder.

I knew it would cause me social anxiety, but I wanted to relive it again, so I put the memory on a loop and settled back as the system continued its process. The memory popped up. Soft, warm, sleepy; all these feelings came back to me as I put myself back into the memory. My head turned on the pillow to face him. Absently, I counted the freckles on his cheeks and dusted over his nose. His aesthetically pleasing features were so symmetrical. So smooth. I imagined reaching out and touching them, discovering their texture, maybe mapping them as well. His head was a warm weight against my flesh. Bubbling inside me returned that needy, clutching desire to have him near me, to have his body be as close to mine as I could manage. Last night's embrace had been the only real time I'd fed that desire. The duration of this month I've been living here with him, its plague had haunted me.

* * *

_The Key to Realization:_

_The Other_

"It took me all night to dig through that crap," Sam sighed, sitting back in the desk chair as Dean continued to pace. He slapped the papers against his knee and looked up at his brother with a quirked brow. "Are you sure it's ok to do this now?"

"It's fine. I'd really like some good news right now, especially about Kas." Dean flinched. "I mean just because of his thing last night." He added, muttering.

Grinning, his younger brother stared at him. "Uh-huh." The look he got was piercing. Clearing his throat, Sam shifted his attention back to the papers. "Anyway, it took me a lot of time to sort through the maneuvers between systems and back-up generators and that whole mess, but when I finally got through I found an entire section cataloging the problem."

"Ok, and what was it?" Dean grumbled.

"An overload," Sam explained, "Kas is extremely humanoid. Chemicals, nerves, pain – all things robots have never experienced before, right? He's like you said, a human with a metal skeleton. But he's not like us, Dean. He never got a childhood or experience being a teenager or even an adult. Kas was dropped into his mid-thirties with zero prior knowledge of how to be a person."

"Yeah, that's what makes him awkward and blatant, right?"

"Exactly. But not just that, Dean. He doesn't know how to be human either. He can't handle his emotions, his functions. You and me smack our knee on the table and think nothing of it – but Kas smacks his knee and his body goes into panic mode."

"Kas hit his knee?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"No." A flip of paper echoed as Sam looked for another page. "He was… in a way, experiencing too many things at once. Here it says he was in hyper-sensitive heat seeking mode. Like… he wanted contact with people. Someone, somehow. But it wasn't like one hug would fix him up."

Dean turned to stare at him. "You mean he was horny?" He blurted.

"Uh, no not exactly, it doesn't say breeding. More like, touch deprived. He never had a mother or a family or anyone to meet his physical needs. Even built from scratch, he needs a human to interact with intimately. It's a basic need – I mean we get it from being with women, since our mom was gone before we reached our quota, and some people just hug their parents a lot, but eventually…"

"But eventually folks want real intimacy."

"Yeah. So he had a flare of his system telling him that he really should fix that or else. And then a lot of other chemicals got into the mix that are harder to explain."

"Like?" Dean sank down onto the edge of his bed and rubbed his bad knee.

Sam sighed. "Let's just say Kas had never experienced that level of human awareness before. It was a lot of emotions we learn to deal with separately, and he got them all at once. The need for touch was just one of them, but it was triggered by something else I couldn't pinpoint. And once he realized he couldn't control all that stuff happening at once… he got scared. It fried his circuits."

"He had a panic attack." Lifting a hand to rub his face, Dean stared at the floor, a feeling of dread sinking into him. "So he's going through robot puberty. The mystery is solved, but not the problem." He took a deep breath. "We better tell him. He'll want to know why he's on the fritz."

* * *

_The Key to Realization:_

_One_

With a flick of my wrist, the memory of the embrace came back to me as well, a lot fuzzier and more laced with fear and anxiety than I preferred. I didn't replay it. But I did contemplate it. After I'd pulled Dean into me, he'd returned the embrace rather fervently. Like he'd been holding back for a long time. Like he'd wanted to hold me as well. Of course, this was speculation – but the desperation in his touch had communicated very apparently to me. Before I had dismissed it as jubilation that I was unharmed. Now, I wasn't entirely sure.

Was he suppressing some sort of affection as I was? I looked at the signs. Aggression, irritation, brooding… avoidance maneuvers. Unsurely approaching conversation. The way he looked at me was not the way he looked at Jo, or his brother, or Benny. It was different. I was different to him.

_"Kas, come on. Wake up, buddy." _Dean's gentle voice. He must've finally come out of his room. Something touched my shoulder and settled on it, hot and heavy, like a hand. I cut my cycle short in order to answer him. I'd really been onto something, too.

Emerging from my mind, I opened my eyes and blinked rapidly to see Dean kneeling beside me. "I'm sorry," I managed, rubbing my face. "Should I not be here?" His green eyes were so hard and guarded. I compared him with my memories. He was a different man when he was asleep.

"Don't worry about it," he replied evenly. "I didn't want to wake you, but Sam finished the translations. We know what's wrong."

My excitement widened my eyes and kicked up my adrenaline. "What is it?" I asked eagerly.

He studied my face with that agitated, alluring look of his, and bit his lip again. "Come in, I'll let Sam explain it." Not a good sign.

Shaking my shoulder gently, he rose to his feet from a crouch. He held out the hand to me and I took it, rising easily beside him. I smoothed my trousers as I followed him into his room. Sam was sitting in the desk chair, and he smiled at me when I walked in, which I attempted to return. But I was nervous. "You've discovered the cause of my malfunction?"

"Yeah, we have, Kas." Sam sighed a bit and motioned for me to sit. "It seems to be from your human systems."

I slowly sat on Dean's bed, glancing between them, and nodded unsurely. "Oh." My human functions? The unfixable ones? That was… bad news. And yet Sam looked hopeful.

"But we do know why all this happened," he continued. "Because of your immediate birth and no form of childhood or adolescence, your body is trying to adjust to living without things it needs to fuel you, emotionally and physically, in order to keep you healthy." He spread his hands. "Because it's such a big deal your body sort of overreacted."

I stared at him. In my chest I got a very deep sinking feeling. "What am I lacking?" I managed.

Dean was pacing slowly alongside the bed, and I looked to him when Sam tried to think of a way to explain. "Touch." The rebel leader answered shortly. He met my eyes then, and I don't think I've ever been so humiliated - seeing as he was the one I wanted to touch.

He knew. I looked at my shoes quickly and my internal temperature soared skyward. I'd kept it to myself so well, and now… "And unlike people, you have a computer running your needs, so it makes sure the problem gets fixed by being extremely annoying," Sam offered, trying to lighten the mood. "But not being able to control these… needs… is what seems to have upset you." I was silent, but he plowed on. "What you're going through is normal – the teenagers you see around here are all experiencing the same thing, only they've had time to adapt to and fix it. It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's tough, but it's just your body trying to make sure you're healthy. If you were human you'd suffer socially. But because you're not it gives you much more opportunity to fix it so you can remain fully functioning." He got up from his chair when I didn't answer and sat close by me on the bed, putting his arm around my shoulders comfortingly. I wanted to melt into a hole in the floor. "Kas, it's ok. We've all been there."

"Let me talk to him." Dean spoke up suddenly. Sam's jaw went slack as he tried to process the meaning of Dean stepping up to a paternal role, especially over their android friend, but once he realized it meant he could offer no further comfort, he deflated a bit. With one last pat on my back, he took his papers and left.


	21. Chapter 20

_20_

_Forever Intertwined, For Better or Worse:_

_The Other_

Dean waited until Sam's steps had faded down the hall. He'd known this would be awkward either way with Kas. He was trying not to show how much he really liked the kid, and the look he'd given Dean when he told him he needed touch was confirmation enough of what he really felt. He was seeking a bit more than affirmation when he followed him around, and queried as to his health, and whatever else. Kas liked him. Probably a lot more than he let on. And Dean had completely missed it trying to squelch his own feelings – ones he was afraid of for several reasons.

Pulling up the chair Sammy had vacated, Dean set it right in front of Kas and plopped down. He leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands in agitation, and found he was looking at the top of the android's head when he lifted his eyes. Kas was still staring at his shoes. They'd just told him what he already knew – he was probably trying to keep it from them, embarrassed to ask anyone for help. Then again, how would he even go about that?

"Look at me," The rebel leader tried. Nothing. He was like a statue. Taking a deep breath, Dean rubbed his face and let it out with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Kas," Dean added quietly.

That got his attention. Lifting his head, Kas looked at him cautiously, blue gaze peeking out. "You haven't done anything to be apologetic for."

"Yes I have." Dean looked into his eyes, jaw clenching. He knew this was going to hurt. "Look, Kas, I've been avoiding coming into contact with you since the second you set foot on this base. I know you probably felt it. Only a few other people know for sure, including Jo and Sam," he continued remorsefully. "I said you didn't do anything wrong, but I never really explained. And I'll be the first to say that I was doing it for your own good. But I know it didn't end up that way. "

Kas stared at him in shock. "Dean." He studied Dean's for any sign of a lie. "Why?"

Dean couldn't look him in the eye. "I wanted you to feel normal, ok? I wanted you to make friends and find your niche here without me coming in and screwing it up. I wanted it so bad that I made an ass of myself." He stared down at his hands. "Giving you the cold shoulder for thirty days straight was all I could think of. I know it wasn't the right thing to do and… I'm sorry."

"I don't understand. How could you disrupt my assimilation, Dean? You set the social norms in this facility and lead by example," Kas stammered. "You're incapable."

It was scary to be this bare. But Kas being ok was more important than his reputation – even more important than his colossal inner fear. If he could prevent more panic attacks, he'd do whatever he could. Dean licked his lips carefully and cleared his throat. "Because I like you, Kas," he answered quietly. The android fell silent. Shy hope pooled in those baby blues and Dean met them hesitantly. "I like you a lot. Ever since I first saw you. And the more I see of you, the more I like you, and it drives me crazy – I mean day in and day out it drives me up the wall." A smile worked its way onto his face and he laughed sheepishly. "What I mean is, I was trying to avoid liking you so much and… I failed pretty horribly."

Kas shook his head in awe. "Why would you deny positive affections?" He asked, obviously still confused. "All this time passed and I had no idea."

"We're both guys, Kas. Not many people are attracted to the same gender they were born as, and it's not widely acceptable anywhere," Dean explained. "People don't like it. If anyone here knew I liked you, they would most likely call me all sorts of names and tell me I was taking advantage of you. Their trust in me would be upset by fear. They might even replace me, or remove me from my leadership role here because of it. It would be a mess. I didn't think exposing you to that kind of negativity was a good choice."

He sighed, rubbing his head. "People are tough anyway; adding fear guarantees a bad ending to anything. Not to mention that I had no idea you felt it, too. I thought if I didn't get close to you that it'd be easier to make sure you felt normal. And it worked, but it also cut me off from you." Eyes flickering to Kas's, he wrung his fingers together. "And with your touch thing… I know now it was wrong to do what I did when I could have been helping you."

* * *

_Forever Intertwined, For Better or Worse:_

_One_

Watching Dean transform my humiliation into his humiliation was amazing. Comforting me from my embarrassment was a very impressive feat; he'd been just as wary of his emotions as I had - only instead of coping, he had cut me out of his social interactions in order to protect me. I was elated. His guards were down at last; I saw every emotion flicker across his face, and through his eyes. He was being entirely honest. I wanted to simultaneously reimburse him for his pain and thank him from the bottom of my heart; but how did I do that?

"Wait," I interrupted suddenly. "This 'like' you speak of…? Does it at all relate to my need?" He had said he could have been helping me with my deficiency. That implied that he felt the same – about touch, and a number of other chemical things.

Dean laughed shyly and bobbed his head. "Yeah, it's ah… it's the same thing." He searched my face. "I've felt it a long time, and been pretty sloppy about keeping it to myself."

My whole world rocked on its axis. To think that he wanted me in the way I did him was beyond my comprehension. "Then you..." I stammered. "I was curious as to why, I mean…" Somehow I lost the inability to form words. Instead I just sat there and heard his confession over and over in my head. He needed me. He needed me. "How did you cope without it?"

"Years of practice," he chuckled.

I worked my jaw for a moment before staring at him. "Dean, I want to be with you."

"I know," he replied simply. His soft expression was unsatisfying.

"Your former method of protection is highly admired, and very appreciated, but I don't wish to see either of our affections go to waste because of social opinion."

"I know." He got up and sat beside me, sighing a bit.

Confusion clouded my eyes. "You… know…?" I pressed desperately.

He laughed softly and leaned over, his face suddenly very close to mine. One of his hands slid along the side of my cheek, rested in his palm. His eyes were full of affection.

I could picture mine; watery, full of hope. Faded cologne and hot breath touched my nose and made my circuits heat up. "Yeah," he said softly. His head tilted to the side. I felt his mouth touch mine and sparks in my neurons were outmatched only by the boiling lava scorching my heart. He kissed me once, twice, three times, and my thoughts were pitching and spinning around in my mind until I was light-headed.

I could hardly believe it. My lips certainly couldn't. I felt the shape of his mouth and mapped out the curve of both lips, and the texture was something else entirely. My heart was burning up – like it was roasting over a spit, but it was a good sort of pain, a kind I wanted more of. It was strange to like pain. The systems in my head began to prickle with need, though, and I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, both his hands holding my face now. But I could not communicate my desired action. I didn't know how.

Thankfully, Dean was also requesting more. He pushed me back on the bed with strong arms and my hands latched onto his jacket, pulling him as close as I could. His hands moved to my sides, rubbing them with a firm, needy motion, and I felt it rush to my head. Pushing my hands under his jacket I wrapped one arm around him tightly. I put my other palm against the swell of his chest. It was invigorating to finally be able to do this – it was everything I'd dreamed of and quite a lot more. I smoothed my hand along him, feeling his curves hungrily. My head was all fuzzy and useless; I had to rely on just my feelings to control what my mouth was doing. He grabbed my waist unexpectedly and a soft sound escaped my lips that made him grin into the kiss.

Then, gently I drew back from his allure and slid to bury my face into his broad shoulder, just like I had last night. Every atom of our touching bodies was humming with pleasure. Savoring it was my first priority. I clung to him so tightly I thought I might be hurting him, but he didn't say a word, he just lay there holding me against him and smiling into my hair. Our legs slid together and locked in place like tumblers. Dean ran his hands along my back, pressing his fingertips into my flesh in a massaging way and sending shivers down my spine.

The darkness of his arms was a warmth I had craved for so long that the high I was getting off it was swallowing me, but I didn't care. My reason had fled me.

I had Dean at last.

A while passed; maybe an hour, maybe two. I refused to count the minutes, trying to put off the inevitable. I never wanted to move again. I actually began to feel heavy. Dean's hands were still moving along my back, so I knew he wasn't asleep, but I wished I had the gift of sleep like he did. It was barely lunch time and I wanted to sleep right here forever.  
Finally, a hum came from the man in my arms and I felt the vibration chest to chest with him. "Kas, buddy, I love you but I've gotta stretch," he said into my ear, sending tremors through my body. Reluctantly I drew my face out of his shoulder. I looked up at him with sad eyes and he chuckled. "Don't worry. There will be plenty of this from now on, I'll make sure of it." He kissed my lips gently and released me, his arms winding up over his head. Arching his back, he even took his legs back, his whole body straining. A groan escaped him. "My arm is dead asleep." Without thinking I spotted the stomach beneath his shirt and touched it with my fingertips. His skin was a lot softer than I had imagined, and he flinched, laughter tumbling from him. "Quit it," he chuckled, grabbing my wrists.

"Why?" I questioned, pushing against his strength to touch his stomach again. I slipped my fingers under his shirt and wiggled them along his soft middle. He laughed sharply and fought against my superior strength. "Your laughter is a lovely sound. And your face gains color."

"Kas, stop! I need to breathe!" I obeyed, letting him breathe for a moment. "Jeez, Kas… I haven't laughed like that in a long time, but..." He grinned at me. "I wonder…"

Before I could react, he pushed my shirt up around his wrists and began to do the same action to me, his speed astonishing. Something foreign bubbled up my chest and pierced the air around me just like Dean's had, only his was softer, rolling like an echo of happiness. Mine was sharp, followed by a lot of confused sputtering. He tickled me until I pried off his hands then he wrapped both arms around me and gave me a bear hug as I struggled to replace the air in my mechanisms. I laughed for the sheer release of jubilation it granted me and struggled against his grip until he let me go. Dean took my face in his hands and kissed my grin over and over, and refused to stop. I pushed at him in pleased confusion.

"What?" I demanded, but when I looked into his eyes I stumbled into a hush. His face was flushed, his chest heaving and sinking with each pant. There was a light inside him that was making him glow and I wanted to know what it was.

He just suppressed a grin, shrugging a bit. "I've just never seen you smile before," he explained. But his eyes said so much more. He was looking at me like he was small and breathless, and I was the universe around him pouring out the stars in the night sky; he was a listless soul in a dark world and I was the bringer of light; he was a soldier causing bloodshed at war, and I was the only anchor that could bring him home. He brushed it off - but I had seen, and I would always remember.

* * *

_Forever Intertwined, For Better or Worse:_

_The Other_

After weeks of putting himself off the idea of wanting to make out with a robot, Dean Winchester made out with a robot. Full on body pushing, waist grabbing, lip biting make out session. God, he hadn't felt this good in years. He was breathless with a sort of joy that was a bit like that first gulp of air after almost drowning or that unexpected ray of sunshine on a stormy day that just filled you from the very bottom all the way up, besides making you feel extremely lightheaded.

You just sort of sit there in the disbelieving shock. As if something that amazing couldn't have _actually_ happened, even after seeing it with your own two eyes... or feeling it with your whole self. He sat on the edge of the bed thinking, the darkness of recent events still prominent in his mind; they had been temporarily overridden by a very large need he'd quenched, but his worry was very heavy. They would have to pack and be out of here as soon as they could. It might take a day to organize the groups he had planned, and supplies were gonna be a bitch…

He watched as Kas fixed his shirt. He was in front of the mirror staring at himself, reflecting the same feeling Dean had tingling through his whole body, especially his toes. Dean paused. Usually he'd carry around some sinking feeling after something like this. If somebody found out, what would they think, how would it affect his leadership, etc. It would usually make him miserable. But he didn't feel anything. Just looking at Kas made sure of that. It washed away his worries, his doubts sliding off him like water off a duck.

He'd never thought this was even possible. I mean who'd guess? Kas, in love with him, of all people. Half the folks here thought he was a dream, so why not one of them? Jo was fond of him, Garth thought he was a trip, and Benny and Sam… But nope. He'd fallen for Dean. The cold, distant, closet bisexual.

"Kas," Dean spoke up suddenly, and the android turned with his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Come here, please," Dean replied softly, staring at him.

Quietly Kas moved to stand nearby, studying his face. "Are you all right?"

With a nod Dean held out his hands. "A little closer." The android obliged, stepping to stand between Dean's knocked-open knees, looking down at him curiously. His hair was a mess again. Dean smiled fondly and put his hands on Kas's waist. He slid his thumbs below the waistband of his soft pajama pants and kneaded his hips gently. "Look, we have a lot of crap to sort through, with this new thing about the company. Everyone is going to have to put in 200% so we can stay safe. I'd rather if we kept this between us until… Well, until things aren't so crazy. Think you can do that?"

A little fidget from the dark haired male made it clear he was enjoying being touched again. He lifted his head and glanced around as he thought about it, fingers curling and uncurling. A frown tugged at his lips. "Yes, I agree, that is a safer course of action," he bobbed his head and looked back to Dean with softer eyes. "What about Sam, can he know?"

Dean blinked. Sam? He broke out in a sweat. "Uh… Sure, ok. Why?"

"I…" Sighing, Kas shook his head. "I don't know. I feel he should."

Dean got to his feet, looking into Kas's eyes with a nod. "You're right, he should," he conceded. "I'll tell him myself." They exchanged a smile that gave the rebel leader butterflies. He reached out and slid his fingers into Kas's lush chocolate hair, kissing him just once more with a deep, slow tenderness that strengthened his will. He'd need it. Telling Sam was the last thing he had wanted to start their new affair with.


	22. Chapter 21

_21_

_Awkward Occurrences and Preparation:_

_One_

After that, Dean fixed my hair again and told me to come back after work. He said we would have to talk more about our new development, but I had an inkling that was a playful lie. The ghostly touch of his hands lingering on my waist made sure I was in no way upset with this idea. We parted ways with mutual reluctance; he had planning to do, and I was late already for my shift at Jo and Ellen's.

Although table scrubbing was the last thing on my mind I knew I was obliged to report for duty. The halls were missing the hum of life of the teenagers lounging about waiting for their turn for the big television, flopped over couches and bouncing rubber balls against the wall. They were all gone. Packing, rushing around with boxes in agitation. Most of the lights had been turned down to dim for extra safety measures so the shadows cast over them hid the gaudy anger on their faces.

On my way downstairs I felt an absence of an incredible weight on my body – I could lift my head, and walk with ease. I didn't worry about Dean anymore. His unknown judgment was finally uncovered. Another worry still remained, of course, for he was still under a great deal of stress, but that wasn't so much of a burden as it was an anchor to my human side. That much concern for a person was freeing. It helped save me from the possibility that I was in fact entirely robotic. But I used my newfound weightlessness to walk with brisk determination towards the staircase in order to shave time off my already late arrival to the bar.

In my need for speed, unfortunately, I was not looking where I was going. A boy of nineteen swung out of the bathroom with his box of cleaning supplies and I smacked right into him, sending him tumbling to the floor. Bottles leaped from the box and clattered so loudly that it echoed in my ears. They spun away from us on the smooth concrete floor and my head rattled from the impact. Shocked, but unscratched, I blinked away my dizziness and looked down to the boy. Adam was his name, with his tired eyes and dirty blonde hair, all twisted up in surprise. "I apologize profusely," I quaked. "I was moving too quickly, I shouldn't have been walking so fast. Are you unharmed?"

Adam groaned. "I think my butt is bruised, but otherwise I'm peachy." He sighed as he sat up, rubbing his backside. "You're Kas, right?"

I knelt carefully and righted his box. "Yes. And you're Adam."

"Yeah. Wow, man, you're solid," he smiled at me as he reached for a stray bottle. We both began the process of returning the bottles to the box, hand over hand, piling in the supplies.

"Solid?" I questioned.

"That was like being hit by a bus. What is it, a metal skeleton?"

I paused. "I believe so, yes. I've also got metal plates binding my ribs."

He laughed. "Wicked."

We fixed his box and I helped him get up, dusting off his jacket. "I repeat my apologies," I said sincerely. "I've never damaged a human before, and I don't enjoy it in the least."

"Don't worry. No damage done. Scared me shitless, though." Adam chuckled to himself as he shifted his grip on the box. "Wait, you work at the bar, right? With Jo?" I nodded. His face lit up. "Hey, do you think you could recommend me for a job? I'm sure handling the whole place by yourself kinda sucks. I mean, I know you can do it, but I'd love to help out over there."

Giving him an odd look, I tilted my head to the side. "A job? I can question Ellen if it would placate you, but if I may ask, why don't you question her yourself?"

He shrugged. "I'm working. But I hate my job. If you could ask her, maybe I could switch to doing shifts at the bar." The easy manner of his speech was comforting. He didn't seem to have any ulterior motives, and although it was odd I'm sure it wasn't unheard of to swap jobs in this facility.

I nodded carefully in reply. "I will ask her for you. Where can I find you to give you the answer I receive?"

"Thanks, man. I'll be here. I'm always on bathroom duty." Smirking, he began to walk off. "Thanks again Kas! I owe you one!"

"Since I hit you I believe this is repaying my debt," I replied, and his laughter echoed down the hall as he made his way around the corner and vanished.

Adam. He seemed like a very laid back teenager. Maybe Ellen would let him join our team. When I finally did make it to the bar, it wasn't very busy, but Ellen looked up when I tied on my apron and grabbed a bus bucket. "A little late there, princess?" She cocked her eyebrow as I fumbled with the dirty glasses on the counter. "Who taught you to clean up your hair?"

"I apologize for my absence," I glanced at her briefly. "Dean occupied my attention for longer than I expected. He also helped me with my hair."

"I heard he stormed out of that meeting this morning," she replied grimly. "How's the boy doing?"

I settled all the dirty cups into the bucket and sighed. "Better. He knows what we have to do, and wanted to make me aware of the situation."

"Right." She nodded slowly. "Well, if it was Dean I can't be too angry. He keeps us afloat here with what he does. Besides that, I was ready to come at those knots on your head with a weed whacker." Tapping the counter, she drew my eye with a bright red fingernail. "You clean these dishes right quick, hear me?"

"Yes ma'am," I remarked obediently.

* * *

_Awkward Occurrences and Preparation:_

_The Other_

Dean made the preparations. He divvied up the supplies on paper and subtracted the few days it would take to pack up and move out. The others argued, and protested, but in the end they gave up. Dean knew what he was doing. There weren't a lot of better options at this point. The council disbanded with their necessary instructions, and Dean remained behind, alone in the big room. Selecting from his finest and brightest he chose three generals. Two of them would go, one would stay with him in case he needed to break from them at any point.

He wrote down three names and stared at it, resting his mouth against his knuckle. Benny. He was strong, tough; wary and confident. A good leader. Section one would be Benny's. His eyes moved down. Garth. Good soul, good instincts. He knew what needed to get done and even if his methods were different, they were effective. He'd be in charge of section two. And the last name. Sam. He rubbed his face. Sam was like a monster on the battlefield and was the smartest, most loyal guy he'd ever met. He'd be in charge of their third section when Dean wasn't there. They clashed so much on their decision making that it wouldn't work quickly – but it _would _work well. Having his contrasting opinions always held his brother back from unnecessary tactics. Sam had too much heart. Even for a guy his size.

Speak of the devil, Sam walked in just as Dean began sorting through the troops to give to each general. He closed the door gently behind him and came to stand nearby the rebel leader. "Dean," he cleared his throat. "Can I talk to you?" Dean crudely motioned to a chair and continued writing. Shuffling his papers, Sam sank into the chair stiffly. "So I continued the translation of Kas's system report in case there was anything I missed, or any sort of solution," he began. "And I found some... abnormalities."

"English please?" Dean grumbled.

"Uh…" Sam winced. "I found an entire section on interactions. With me, Benny, Jo, and… you."

"So?" Dean asked warily, pausing and squinting at his brother.

"So… In every section it documented his body regulation and how much stress he was under every time he spoke to someone." Sam turned his notes to face Dean and showed him the paragraph under his name. "There's an incredible spike for you as compared to the others." He gave him a sheepish look. "I mean chemically, and mentally; he hones in on you like a dog onto bacon. You have more data in his head then all of us combined, and I don't say that lightly." He cleared his throat again and handed him the papers. "I think he may, uh… have a crush on you, Dean."

Nodding awkwardly, Dean raised his eyebrows as he read. "Mmm."

Sam stared at him in shock. "Dude, are you serious? That's all you have to say?"

Dean glanced from Sam to the paper. "I, uh, I should probably explain." Sam just sat there, eyebrows raised. Like, 'well, ya gonna tell me?' Licking his lips, Dean mimicked him by clearing his throat and looked down at the paper again. He narrowed his eyes in thought. "Gimmie a minute."

"Dean! You did_ NOT_ tap that?!" Sam exploded in disbelief.

"NO!" Dean shouted defensively. "I didn't even know what was up until this morning! I did not have sex with Kas!" He gave Sam, who looked relieved, a weird look. "Jesus. Who even are you?" He shook his head and went back to his paperwork. "We just hashed things out. I don't move that fast."

* * *

_Awkward Occurrences and Preparation:_

_One_

Taking the bucket into the back, I made two more trips before I'd gathered up all the dishes, and stood at the sink vigorously washing them one by one. I was glad Ellen wasn't angry with me for being late. Everyone around here knew that when Dean was going AWOL that it was better to follow his instructions or else nothing was going to happen smoothly – and it was a suitable cover. My hands were red and raw in no time from scrubbing. I paused only to make runs and gather more, sliding them into the hot dish water with great care.

Around the tail end of my second trip Jo appeared in the back room to pull beers out of the fridge. She passed by me quickly and froze. Step by step, she came back, until she was hovering by my shoulder. "You smell like Dean's cologne."

I didn't look up. "I spoke with him earlier."

"But his cologne is all over your shirt," she smirked. "Did he hug you?"

"Yes, why?"

"No reason." I looked up as she sauntered off, hips swinging, hair lashing.


	23. Chapter 22

_22_

_Velvet, Crushing Passions:_

_One_

As the night wore on, I asked Ellen about giving Adam a job and she just chuckled. When I gave her my most confused look she just told me she'd think about it and walked away laughing to herself. Apparently she knew him. Asking Jo elicited the same reaction. Besides that, there were a lot of people in the bar, so I was very busy with the dishes. But unlike normal, everyone was pretty quiet. A few conversations went on everywhere, and there were some jokes, but it was nothing like the boisterous laughter or drinking games that usually went on. The incident this morning had sobered everyone up. They were all pretty scared about what might be happening. I related very much as well; but not only did being with Dean lift my spirits, I was also quiet in general, so my behavior was unchanged.

Of course, for some reason Jo continued to shoot comments at me all night, asking me how Dean was. By the rapidly changing tone of her voice I could tell she was teasing me. But I had no idea how to react. I just ducked my head and stared at my dishes and my throbbing hands. When my shift was over, I was glad for it. I wiped down the tables and hung up my apron and bid everyone goodnight. Jo pushed two cold beers into my hands and my palms thanked her silently.

"What are these for?" She'd never sent me out of the bar with alcohol before.

"They help," she winked, and left to help her mom clean up. Did she know? Was this her way of saying she wouldn't tell anyone? I had no clue, I could only be grateful. I climbed the silent steps and skirted the hushed halls and hung outside Dean's door trying to figure out how to knock with both hands occupied. Fumbling to push one beer into the crook of my elbow, I was reaching to knock when the door was opened from the inside. And there stood Dean in a t-shirt and jeans, barefoot, with a towel over his shoulder and a bundle of clothes in his hand.

I had never, ever seen his face light up like it did when he saw me - the warmest grin imaginable curled his lips and made my knees feel weak. "Kas, hey. Done already?" He put the clothing bundle under his arm and relieved me of the two beers. "Come in." Walking back inside, he set the beers on the table, giving me another smile when I stared at him. "What?"

Without responding I drifted over to him and got up close until I could feel his breath on my nose and my lips parted. "I would like to kiss you." I stated very seriously. My sore hands lifted to grasp his face, and I looked into his shifting hazel eyes. He'd gotten very tense, his lips trembling and his eyebrow quirking. I could feel what he wanted. "May I?"

"Kas, don't ask," he breathed, and I felt him grab the back of my head. Our mouths met in a rough, hungry way; wet with need and hard with lust. His smile tasted like steel and sunlight. Beneath my fingertips, his jaw shifted and moved fluidly, longing for mine; we meshed like machine cogs. My scalp tingled with the dig of his fingertips and I opened my mouth to him. Something strange had emerged in my belly - I craved his hands again. I wanted to roll around in his bed and run my fingers through his hair and sink my teeth into his bottom lip and give him something to be breathless about.

Dean rolled his tongue around mine and I sank my teeth into it possessively, drawing a soft sound from the bottom of his throat. I sucked on it briefly as if to sooth the bite and a warm shudder shook me from head to toe. Then he broke off, drawing in a sharp breath. His cheeks were rosy, his breath coming in pants. "Jesus, Kas," he marveled. "You ok?"

"I don't know," I breathed. "I don't know what this feeling is." His lips were pink and swollen and so… bitable. I stared at them as Dean dropped his extra clothes and the towel and pushed the door shut without moving. "I can't help myself." I looked at him with a mix of fear and longing.

"It's horny, Kas." Dean took my face in his hands and kissed it tenderly. "Trust me." His voice rumbled in his chest, and I could tell he was right. Fortification was not in my system description but it was entirely possible. All the chemicals and parts were in order and working together smoothly to make me want to…

I grasped his wrist. "Dean," I pleaded softly. "Let me kiss you."

Dean's eyes became gateways to his melting heart. His tongue slid out to lick his swollen lips and my head became cloudy with lust. Our foreheads touched as he slipped both hands under my shirt to grasp voraciously at my waist, his palms sliding over my tight stomach and my hips before he searched for purchase. Every atom of me his fingertips slid over heaved with pleasure. They were like hits off a blunt, making my head light and my body loosen. My breath hitched in my throat and I brushed my nose against his as we sank into another kiss.

Before I knew what was happening I was on my back on Dean's bed and he was on top of me, running his hands beneath my shirt and over my chest and my shoulders - parts of me he'd never touched before. My flesh shivered and heated up and soon I arched my back and pulled my t-shirt off entirely, letting it fall away. Our lips remerged and meshed; I sank my teeth into his lip and made him groan softly. My strong chest rose against his own. His calloused hands trapped mine and I let him pin them down, sending a bolt of pleasure down my spine. His knees pushed mine apart and the rhythm of his body was undeniable. It flipped a switch in me.

Something rippled down my pelvis and rose between my legs. The sheer intensity of my desire to rub it against Dean was immobilizing. My head rocked. When I stopped kissing him, Dean grinned against my hot cheek and dipped his pelvis, pushing something of his own against mine. I gasped in surprise. The appendage that I had mostly ignored all month was now furiously sensitive beneath the thin layer of pajama pants. I groaned openly and hoisted my waist up for more. He ground down, bumping erections with me a layer of denim. Being immobilized somehow made it easier to enjoy and we settled into a rhythm, my arms straining against his grip, both of us moaning softly.

After a while of this I began to grow very anxious. Something was building up in my newly strengthened appendage. I had never done anything like this with my body before, but I was too desperate to keep this going with Dean. It felt too good to stop. He seemed to indulge himself in giving me whatever I wanted, but asking what to do might break the trance we were in, and I would not have that. I kept getting closer and closer until I was riding him hard enough for him to notice. I was too focused to kiss him. He sank his teeth into my neck, sucking a bruise into the curve of my shoulder, and shockingly this sent strong signals to my crotch. I groaned. Then, a rainbow of color exploded behind my eyelids, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip as I pumped my erection against Dean's, a throbbing orgasm rocking my hips. It pulsated with something like a heartbeat as I got high off the chemicals reaching fever pitch in my genitals. I hammered against him until it was over. Then, thick and quivering, it was over.

I went limp on the bed, exhausted. Dean settled in beside me. He slid his arm under my head to cradle it, and rested an open palm on my belly. His fingers carded through my mussed hair, smoothing away the pounding of my head, and pressing a kiss to my temple. "You're a natural," Dean mumbled sensuously. "How did that feel?"

"Fantastic," I groused, completely useless at the moment. My limbs ached with over-use - my hips especially were very upset. I was too worn out to even be worried about the sticky mess soaking my pants. The velvet feel of skin on skin helped sooth my aches and pains as he began rubbing circles on my rising and falling stomach. "Was that… intercourse?"

Dean laughed outright. "Not quite, buddy. That's called getting your rocks off. It's how sex usually ends, but if there is no peg-in-the-hole, then there's no sex." I leaned my head on his shoulder and shut my eyes against the pattern he was tracing on my scalp. I could still feel the soft twitch down below. "I wasn't even sure you'd be able to do this much." He leaned up close to me, sharing his warmth. "But I'd prefer if you kept it between us either way."

I nodded wearily. "Of course. I have no use of it otherwise." Another kiss touched my forehead.

"That's my boy." He rested his cheek against my forehead and sighed contently.

"Dean," I rested my hand over his on my belly, frowning. "You didn't… get off your rocks?"

I felt his smile against my forehead. "No, I'm a bit more experienced. Thirty years is a long time to acclimate. Since it's all pretty new to you, you're sensitive. Gradually you'll get used to it."

"I don't agree. That was an experience I don't believe I'll ever acclimate to."

Dean hummed contently. "It'll always feel this good. But you'll get more and more time to get down and dirty with me." Taking in a deep breath, he nudged me awake. "Come on, buddy. We need to get you cleaned up. I've been dying to get you scrubbed down anyway, now that you're a mess it gives me an excuse." When I looked at him in confusion he grinned broadly. "I'mma get you into a shower."

* * *

_Velvet, Crushing Passions:_

_The Other_

Sitting Kas on the end of the bed, Dean untied the Anrdoid's boots and put them aside, tossing aside his socks as well. He told him to put his shirt back on. "Don't want to make the ladies excited," he teased. "They already think all the good guys are taken or gay. Let's not ruin it for them just yet." Once Kas did what he was told, Dean fetched another clean pair of underwear, jeans and a shirt, and picked up the stuff he'd dropped earlier. "Get a towel from that basket. They're all clean." He pointed.

Then he watched Kas pad over the carpet in his bare feet timidly to fish out a blue towel from the stack, putting it over his shoulder like Dean had done before. "Like this?" He asked, all blue eyes and wrinkled clothes. Even the stain in his pants was somehow endearing.

"Perfect." Dean smiled. "Come on and stay close. Use me as a shield if we run into anyone, ok?"

The dark haired male dipped his chin in reply. When he approached Dean gave him one last kiss before opening the door and leading the way to the bathroom. Kas walked close behind him on the way, bumping into his shoulder and mumbling nervous apologies when he stopped short. Dean hushed him and made sure there was no one walking by when they finally reached the communal bathroom.

It was probably twelve or so at night, so the halls and bathroom stalls were empty as well. Picking a big shower stall was a privilege seeing as it had the best water pressure: there was a section behind the shower door with two plastic benches, a section of wall to protect both from the shower stream, and then the tile with the drain and the shower head. Dean led the way inside and locked it behind them, organizing their things on separate benches. He then pulled off his shirt and put it on his side.

"Strip down, bad boy," he ordered. "Skivvies and all." Kas timidly took off his shirt, mimicking Dean on the opposite bench. He stared at Dean's chest as he unbuttoned his jeans. Both of them stripped to their boxers, mounding their used clothes, then Kas stopped. Dean glanced at him. "You all right?"

"I…" Kas curled and uncurled his fingers. "I've never taken them off."

Dean stared at him. "You're not serious." The nervous jaw clench he saw told him he was. "Kas, I adore you," he sighed, reaching over to nudge his cheek. "Don't worry, I'm sure you're fine. Want me to check for you, make sure it's all in tact?" Lifted by his earlier comment, Kas shook his head confidently and hooked his thumbs around the waistband of his boxers, removing them with tentative care. Dean nodded in approval. "Looking good. See? Not so bad." He winked. Discarding his own boxers, he put them aside as Kas compared the two.

"Dean…" He started cautiously.

"No," Dean interrupted.

"I didn't ask anything."

"I know what you were gonna say."

"But the size difference-"

"No."

"But yours is standing straight-"

_"Not now, Kas._"


	24. Chapter 23

_23_

_Cleanliness and Trust:_

_One_

In the shower, I stood naked on the threshold as Dean made sure the water was warm. Then he pulled me in alongside him. Hot steams of tap soaked my hair and swirled the dust off my skin and down the drain - it was oddly pleasant to be under its pounding steam and entirely free of clothing. I smiled and pushed water out of the face of the male I loved the most in the world; I liked this shower thing already. We kissed slowly, languidly as the water pounded our shoulders, pooling in our collarbones and sliding in rivulets along our chests.

Dean rubbed my hair with tons of shampoo that he told me not to get in my eyes. His fingers dug into my scalp as he lathered it in before a good rinse. Twice this was done before he was satisfied. Then he brought out a couple of wash cloths and covered them in soap. One of them was given to me with a warning to keep it out of my eyes as well, and he scrubbed his face and behind his ears first. I figured watching first was a good idea since I had to shut my eyes, so when he was done I did the same. It was cleansing to feel the weight of the dirt lift out of my pores. I also mimicked the way Dean scrubbed his arms and torso flawlessly. He laughed and told me to look at my cloth, and when I did I was horrified. It was nearly black. I definitely needed to bathe more.

He told me to wash it out while he got my back. He set at the task with a very nice pressure, and I was too busy rolling my shoulders as the texture and his strength melted me. The tension in my shoulders eased. I felt like I was washing my old ways down the drain. When we were done and Dean was satisfied at my level of cleanliness he took out an aluminum bottle and wiggled a razor in his hand. "Do you trust me?" He asked, and I stared at him.

"Yes." I replied softly.

He told me to stand by the water stream and took a good lather of 'shaving cream,' rubbing it on my neck and my cheeks until my dusty peach fuzz was covered. Then came the blades. Weapon. Danger. Alarms went off in my head that I had to switch off hastily. I stood stock still as he ran a blade down my cheek one stroke at a time, cleaning it off in the water every two or three strokes. My facial hair came off nice and easy; not a nick was taken out of my cheek. In no time he was completely finished.

"You look so clean," Dean marveled, teasing me. "Is it still you I'm looking at?"

"Do I become someone else every time I shower?" I asked in bewilderment.

He just kissed me and hummed. "Nope, still you." His wink made me sheepish. Teasing again.

"Dean, about your-"

"Kas." He warned.

"I just want to know if I can…"

"Hm?"

"Get you off your rocks. I feel… unfair, having done so with you, and yet you remain…"

"Don't say it."

"Dean." He looked at me hesitantly. "Would you rather not experience it?"

"No, I…" He cleared his throat. "I just want to make this about you, Kas. Let yourself get used to everything first before we, you know, get into heavier stuff." I squinted at him and he sighed. "Real intercourse."

I blinked. "Oh. I… I suppose you're right." I was still unsure of myself, but tonight had given me confidence. I knew what to expect now. There seemed to be more to his hesitation though and it worried me. Was it me, or something else?

Watching him shave was fascinating. He did it with such practiced hands that I couldn't help but wonder at how he got every single spot. We shut off the water when he was done and dried and dressed side by side. Just for extra protection he wrapped my dirty clothes in his and we brought them back to his room.

I stood in the middle of the carpet while he put them in the laundry basket. Socks were tossed my way. "These are clean. I'll get you your own stock of clean underwear and socks – be sure to change both every couple of days, at least." He hung up out towels and made a sound of casual exhaustion. "I won't have any trouble sleeping tonight."

I sat down to pull on my new socks. Everything felt so fresh and clean – the world around me no longer held the hint of alcohol and morning bacon. Although now that think about it that was probably me. I winced. Unsanitary. How did I live like that? "Thank you, Dean." I said as I finished tying on my boots and got to my feet. "There are no more words for me to express my gratitude for everything you've done for me - today alone has been phenomenal."

"I would like to talk to you a minute before you go, if you don't mind."

"Of course. Anything."

Dean sat on the bed and held out his hand for me to join him. I was just glad to remain in his company longer. Sitting, I met his warm gaze as he rested his hand on my thigh. "I wanted you to know that as long as I'm around, I'll always try to take care of you. If at any point it gets on your nerves just tell me. But I really enjoy it, so… be gentle." I returned his infectious smile before he continued. "And I also wanted to ask you if there was anything you'd like to talk about." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Anything. I'll answer any of your questions."

Before he hadn't wanted me to talk about anything. "Are you… sure?"

"Yes. I would just rather talk about it right here, if that's ok. Nowhere else. Unless I say so."

"Understood and understandable." I racked my brain and shifted a bit as I thought. "How many people have you been with like me?"

"Like men?" I bobbed my head in reply. He held up a finger. "Just one."

"Who was he?"

"An old acquaintance. Him and I met briefly, and he gave me grief for a long time after."

"How long?"

"Very long."

"Since then it's just been women?"

"Bingo. They didn't stick around, though. Dangerous life."

"Also understandable. Now, have you… told Sam? About you and I?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Just this morning. I sat him down and explained everything. He won't tell a soul."

"Very good. I apologize in advance for this next one. How… how do males… fornicate?"


	25. Chapter 24

_24_

_Companionship is a Large Accomplishment:_

_One_

The sunlight coating my newly washed skin was so soft and warm, just like the first time I'd set foot on this base. Because of the heightened danger, I'd taken to building a wall of tree branches around me while I charged, to conceal my presence. But sitting here I barely remembered what it was like to sit in that laboratory. No friends, no birds, and no sunlight.

Needless to say, my touch requirements had almost been fulfilled entirely – just one more night with Dean and I'd be able to give him some time to himself. But, determined to be unbalanced, my solar energy supply had been dangerously low when I had awakened. I'd just managed to get outside in time to recharge it. So here I sat, surrounded by a blanket of pine needles, remembering all the things I'd done and admiring the massive catalogue of new things I'd learned. My capacity to adapt to human life was amazing. I still couldn't comprehend it.

And now I had a mate. Something hummed warmly in my circuits when I thought about it in that context. My mate. Dean. Dean's eyes, Dean's lips, Dean's hands, especially his hands. I mean especially all of him. I couldn't be happier. I hadn't even known I was capable of mating - this opened up millions of possibilities. Now I was capable of binding myself to a human and be able to complete our relationship in every way except one. And of course, all these people were like Dean's children, so maybe that wasn't a contemporary requirement. But I could function as everything a human could and more.

Once my sensors blinked softly, signaling they were fully recharged, I slid back down the stairs and into the facility. It was too dangerous to linger – even as much as I loved it. I double bolted the door behind me before I made my way to breakfast.

* * *

_Companionship is a Large Accomplishment:_

_The Other_

That night Dean had enough built up sexual tension to make any guy explode, but he was so tired and so happy that he was unconscious before he could even sling his hand in his pants. His body dropped like a rock into slumber. It swallowed him whole, cradling his consciousness with welcomed delicacy. Even the heaviness of his chest couldn't stop him now. He felt like years of stress had left him all at once. All those past unresolved thoughts and wants vaporized. His fear finally melted. Everything in his head was making way for a much bigger feeling - one that encompassed his heart and banished all the other scars from his mind.

Soft darkness watched over him as he enjoyed a long, restful sleep. Flickers of memories kept him lulled in his seven hour trance: Kas's soft chapped lips; the kindness in his eyes whenever he said his name. _"Dean,"_ Kas breathed in a hush, and it was everything rolled into one. It was I love you. It was I need you. It was, I wish you'd take care of yourself, or, I wish you'd let me take care of you for a change. It was, I'll love you as long as you let me, and even longer than that.

Dean wanted to reach out his arms. He wanted to grab him and tug him into a crushing hug. _"I love you, Kas,"_ he'd say. _"Stay forever. Let me be the one you need. Just let me be the only one, and I'll show you how to live. Please let me." _He sucked in a deep breath against Kas's soft hair and realized he was weeping._ "It's the only thing I'll ever ask from you." _

Dean awoke in the morning with an ache in his heart and tears soaking his face. Just the air filling his lungs seemed to hurt. His eyes refused to stop leaking. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, still as pond water, wondering at this powerful new emotion. He'd never felt this way before. Not about Lisa. Not even about Jimmy. It was too much to process all at once. So for a long time he just thought and breathed and nothing else moved while he put it all together. If he didn't have things to do, he would've stayed there all day.

He wiped his face and sat up as he rubbed his neck. Day two of packing. He wondered how on schedule they were. Rising heavily, he yawned as he made his bed, pulling up his boots when he was finished. He'd just sat down again when two knocks came at the door. " 'S open," he called out blearily. He fumbled with his shoelaces as Sam opened the door and stepped inside.

"We need to talk, Dean," he said somberly, and Dean squinted up at him.

"This early?" The rebel leader protested, still in the twilight zone of sleep.

"I'm serious, Dean." He shut the door and pulled up a chair right in front of Dean, sitting with a thud. His narrow eyes were ringed with shadows. Even his hair was a mess. It was clear he'd been upset since yesterday. "You can't do this." Sam's jaw was set. "You can't do this to Kas."

"Sam…" Dean rubbed his face, weary. "Don't do this."

"He's not a full person, Dean," Sam growled. "He can't make his own choices yet! It's like asking a horny teenager to pick who they wanna be with for the rest of their lives!"

"People do that all the time!" Dean whined. "Sam, look, he might not be a 'full person' but he is a person, and it was his choice to get into all this. Even after I made it clear it would be nuts."

"No, you baited him right into it with romance! Dean, he's in love with you! You can't just-"

"I can't just what, huh?!" Dean challenged, raising his voice. "I can't just fall for the guy?! What do you want from me, Sam? I'm not a goddamn kid, I know we're doing! And Kas isn't about to-" He faltered when he saw Sam was gawking at him. "What?" He demanded, his frustration mounting.

"I… was gonna say use him for sex," Sam stammered. "I know ever since Jimmy you've been… off. But I didn't think… I mean…" Dean looked away angrily, but Sam's jaw kept dipping lower and his eyes kept getting wider. He leaned forward. "Do you really love him, Dean?"

"Jimmy was over ten years ago, Sam," Dean mumbled, looking at him guiltily. "Was I really that bad all this time?" Sam nodded sheepishly. Dean sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Lisa was right about me. Well… even if I was that bad, I'd never use anybody like that. I know how it feels. But do you really think I'd lie about something this important, Sam?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "No. You wouldn't." He looked down at his hands and Dean stared off into the corner. They sat in silence for a few minutes, both digesting the new information they'd been pushed into. It was a lot to take in. After a while Sam cracked a grin. "I'm kinda stoked, actually. You're a bitch when you're not getting laid."

Dean snorted. "Shove off, asshole," he shot back, and pushed him. But Sam was laughing already and pushed him back harder with his moose-like strength, and Dean recovered enough to mutter angrily as he finished tying his shoes. He pulled on an over shirt and a jacket before following Sam out the door. They headed to breakfast, shoving each other halfheartedly as they walked shoulder to shoulder down the long echoing corridor.

* * *

_Companionship is a Large Accomplishment:_

_One_

It was thinner than normal in the cafeteria. Everyone was strung pretty thin on their tight schedule; packing had to get done now, and they had to leave as soon as it was finished, so everyone was on edge day in and day out. The benches were strewn with sore slung-up legs and slouching boys and girls. Sliding in across from Dean, I conceded not to eat today. Instead I turned to greet the others. "Benny, Sam, Garth," I nodded in their directions. Garth grinned. Benny flashed me his usual kind look as he twirled his fork in his eggs and Sam put an extra amount of heart into his own smile.

"Hey, Kas." Sam polished an apple on his shirt, unable to stop smiling. "How do you feel?"

"Yeah, you smell a hell of a lot better," Benny added, shooting over a teasing grin. "What's up?"

"I… found purchase to finally bathe. I understand its necessity now. Apologies if my scent offended." I rubbed my neck shyly and brushed my fingers through the light, clean hair on the back of my head.

"Don't mention it." Benny waved his fork a bit. "I've smelled worse."

A relieved smile pushed up the corners of my mouth. Looking at Sam, I saw his exhaustion as evidently as the others'. I hoped this would all be over once we moved. "I feel very well, thank you, Sam. I believe I'm almost entirely adjusted to being here. As soon as we must depart again, of course."

He chuckled. "It figures, huh? That's the way life is. Pulls the rug right out from under your feet right when you get comfy." His teeth sank into his supple fruit and chewed a mouthful thoroughly. "Hey, do you know how to handle a gun?"

"He can take 'em apart in record time," Garth piped up, the brim of his green baseball cap lifting so his soft eyes could drift over his favorite android. "And he can lock and load. But not shoot."

"I planned on teaching him today." Dean was leaning both arms on the table and glancing me over, his food half eaten before him. He looked like a man with a plan. "No worries. He'll be a perfect shot before we haul outta this place."

"With you as a teacher, sure," Garth said in amazement. "But how long do we have, captain?"

"Today and tomorrow is what I'm aiming for. But it depends on how well everyone does with packing. I'll take Kas with me on my rounds to check on things and then we'll hit the range." Reaching out, Dean nudged my shoulder playfully. "Better call someone to cover your shift, Kas. We've got work to do."

"I will." I said eagerly. "I'm excited to learn how to shoot."

"Well, let's get going and get my rounds over with so we can start."

"All right." With a few verbal good-byes to our friends, Dean and I left at once, heading to the infirmary. Shooting practice, finally! I didn't care of people were staring, seeing as Dean had never taken a special interest in me all month. I was excited. That must be why Dean forbade Garth from teaching me. He wanted to teach me himself. I tried not to stare at him as we turned corners and strode down long hallways, Dean prattling about his rounds and me listening carefully. He did a lot during the day that I was entirely unaware of. It would be good to see him at work.

We passed a mirror on the wall, which I tried to see myself in. I wasn't being vain, I was being cautious, making sure my appearance wasn't skewed. To be honest I was surprised. I did look better clean. My eyes were brilliantly blue in my clean-shaven face, which I touched delicately in fascination. My hair looked much better combed. And my clean gray knit-long-sleeve shirt fell so neatly over my wrinkled jeans. I pushed at the wrinkles with my palms. I felt better knowing this was how I appeared to the others. My boots were messily tied – I was bad at it – but I looked healthier than before, more aware. "You listening, princess?" Dean teased, when I neglected to respond to one of his questions.

I spun to look at him. It seemed we'd passed the mirror a while ago and had arrived at the infirmary door. I'd been lost in thought. Embarrassment heated my circuits. "I-I apologize," I stammered. "I was just thinking about how much better I feel after last night."

His stark green eyes blinked. "About being clean or…?"

"Being clean specifically." My eyes flickered to his lip as he bit it again then flickered back to his eyes. "But that is never far from my mind either."

Dean glanced around the empty hall casually. His movement made me suspicious, and then I felt hands on my hips and lips on my cheek that sparked like embers in my circuits. Before I could protest he pressed his body so flush with mine that a gasp hitched in my throat. I melted. His shape was so familiar, so comforting. Kisses trailed along my jaw line as my hands closed around the lapels of his jacket as well as the two undershirts he had on. He pressed his warm cheek to mine and we just stood there together, swaying slightly, as if we were the same planet in orbit around the sun. I hummed low in my throat with joy. He emanated heat and his cologne filled my nose and made me dizzy. I was glad to have him to hang onto. "Sorry," he murmured in my ear. "I couldn't help it. Sorta."

I shut my eyes and inhaled him. "I am ok with this. Are you upset?"

"No… No, I'm ok." He slid his arms around me and gave me a squeeze. "I just like finally being able to do this." I kissed his cheek, making him blush. A smile broke my calm as we gingerly swayed.


	26. Chapter 25

_25_

_The Ferocity of Merciless Kickback:_

_The Other_

The rounds went smoothly. Everyone seemed to be on schedule except the teenagers, who were stunted after an argument of laziness broke out. After knocking a couple heads together Dean managed to get a hold of the kid who was the source of the problem and banished him to bathroom duty. They took him there themselves and happened to bump into Adam, who Dean took his box of cleaning supplies from and shoved it into the younger boy's arms. The kid scurried into the bathroom to escape more of Dean's wrath, and the rebel leader glanced over Adam. "Looks like you're off the hook."

"Adam," Kas spoke up. "I will be under Dean's supervision today and am unable to work at the bar. Do you believe you could cover my shift for me?"

"Really? What are you gonna be doing?" Adam asked curiously.

Dean eyed him. "He'll be learning to shoot. Go tell Ellen she's got no choice in her replacement – and you'll be working there only until we leave, so don't get too excited."

A grin broke out over Adam's face. "Thanks, man! Sure, no problem, I'll go right now." He waved and sauntered off, happy as a pig in shit.

"Why does he want to work in the bar so much?" Kas queried.

Leading him down the hall, Dean just smirked. "Anyone in this place would have given their left foot to work with Jo. Especially Adam."

The gun range was empty. Everyone who usually spent extra hours here was on packing duty, so there was no one to bother them. Dean flicked on the lights to the long room and Kas touched the sort of desk positions where you stood and fired at the cardboard targets fifty feet away. They were attached to a pulley system to make them easier to retrieve. Dean lifted a gun out of the thigh holster he'd strapped on this morning and cocked it.

"Here, put these on," he said, handing Kas ear plugs. They both wiggled them into their ears and Kas stood back, eagerly awaiting Dean's instruction. The stoic male lifted his pistol and fired an entire round into the target without flinching. The noise was unbelievably loud. Kas jumped with each shot, his circuits firing at strange rates as the echoes rattled his chest, and drew back step by step until his back hit the wall. He pressed himself against the cold concrete and stared as Dean put down the gun and flicked the button to retrieve the target_. _

_"They key is to avoid fear: if you miss, fire again until you land a hit; if you take him down, make sure to put another bullet in him so he stays down; the kickback you'll just have to get used to."_ Dean's voice was muffled and fuzzy. Kas's eyes were mesmerized by the target as it came up to them fully. It was a shape of a person with a target in their head and their chest. Dean had put three in its forehead and the rest into its heart. _"Here, you- Kas?"_ The name was a grunt. He'd turned and finally seen the white face of his lover. Crossing the short space between the desk and the wall where Kas was pressed, Dean stared at him, holding out his hands. _"You ok? Hey, what's wrong?"_

The android looked like he'd just seen a ghost. _"Dean, I have no military training,"_ he quaked.

_"None of us did. We were born just like you, just folks." _

_"I don't believe it's correlated-" _

Sliding his hand to cup Kas's face, Dean gave him a firm look. His joking manner vanished. _"Kas, you have to do this. I can't protect you if you can't hold your own."_

* * *

_The Ferocity of Merciless Kickback:_

_One_

There were alarms in my system that I could easily switch off temporarily, or ignore, but alarms bigger than my willpower were blaring and shaking me like a leaf. Guns. Danger. Pain. Things I'd never done or been through flooded my mind with war and gore, making me recoil as if the gun itself were smacking me in the chest. I spun with vertigo. The wall chilled my over-heating sensors, but it wasn't nearly enough to calm me down. I was terrified to see Dean tear apart that target. It reminded me of how much blood he had on his hands; he was a killer. Not for a living maybe but a good deal more of a body count than I could imagine probably rested on his head. I could just picture him mowing down someone threatening his people mercilessly – and that alone made me rigid with fright.

But looking into his face, seeing worry soften his cold soldier façade - that is what calmed me. He was a good man in a violent world. And he was in danger keeping me safe. I looked into Dean's war torn eyes and swallowed. I knew he was right. Expecting him alone to keep me safe was ludicrous – I was the one everyone was after, not them. _"All right,"_ I conceded at last. Peeling myself off the wall, I calmed my bristling alarms and looked at the gun. Dean shook my shoulder warmly.

_"That's my boy. Come on, stand here."_ He replaced the target with a fresh one. Then, he put me into position and leaned his body into mine, dragging and pushing my feet into the right stance. His tough hands lifted the gun, showing me how to grip it before placing it into my hands. My eyes honed in on the weapon. I felt subtle, incomplete connections lacing from my system into my arm, then my legs, and my chest tightened in preparation. I lifted the pistol with every spark in my body calm as a shipping moor before a storm. My eyes hardened into ice. Dean flicked the button to send the target flying back into position and stepped back. _"The gun's kickback will skew your shot until you get used to it." _His voice became more than muffled. It faded into the background, pushed out of my head as I waited patiently for the target to stop moving. Then once his words stopped so did it.

I fired.

The kickback rippled my body - my eyesight vibrated, and my ears sung with the shortened distance between me and the noise, my shoulder muscles shuddering. Once, then twice I fired, my hand tightening around the butt of the gun. I clipped the target's head and the shoulder. My finger kept pulling the trigger, my arm absorbing the shock of the kickback until I was shooting dead straight. Thoughts drained out and silenced. There was nothing but me and my target. I kept firing until the clip was empty. Dean was looking at me as I lowered the gun and clicked it open, tossing aside the empty clip. _"How was that?"_ I asked without moving.

He flicked the button to bring the target back and nodded. _"Damn good, Kas."_ He stared at me. _"The advantage of your systems will make this much easier than I thought." _

The clip in total held about ten bullets in total, and the first two were as I mentioned. One nicked the head, another nicked the shoulder, and a third went right through the throat. A cluster made a circle in the stomach and the last few went through the center of the chest.

_"Jesus,"_ Dean whispered, so lowly I almost missed it. He took down the target and stared at it. _"All right. A few things."_ He showed it to me_. "Try for the left side of the chest. That's where the heart is. And headshots might be tough, but try to get a few in. You don't want a chance of him recovering enough to grab another gun and get back at you. They get spiteful after the first few hits."_ I said nothing as he reloaded the target and gave me a new clip. _"Try again."_

I lifted the gun and slid in the clip, cocking it. I clenched my jaw. Once the target was in place I emptied my clip into the cardboard figure again. I slid out the empty clip once more as Dean rolled it back in and he stared at it. _"Suitable?"_ I questioned coldly.

The figure had a bullet in each elbow, each knee, and six in his heart. To be honest I didn't want to kill anybody, but I did want to show Dean I was capable of it. He looked entirely unconvinced, though, which served to annoy me, and he put it aside and loaded up another one. _"Head shots." _He pressed. _"Practice."_ His tone was calm, but I could tell he was annoyed as well. He kept stepping back and crossing his arms over his chest like he was just waiting for me to push his buttons some more.

So I did. I emptied yet another clip to make a perfect circle in the chest of the target with zero other points of impact. Dean ripped it down and threw it aside. _"Kas,"_ he snapped. _"This is not optional. If I'm ordering you to shoot this man in the head in the field and you don't take him down, he could still pick up a machine gun and slaughter all your friends!"_ He was shouting now. _"Do you want them to die?! Do you want their blood on your hands?!" _

His words hit home and without warning a fierce fire shot through my veins. I threw down the gun and it clattered loudly, bouncing away from me on the floor. _"I DON'T WANT ANY BLOOD ON MY HANDS!" _I yelled angrily, whirling on him. _"Just because you kill people on a regular basis does not mean I can! I'm not a killing machine! I can't!"_

_"Yes you can."_ I felt the cold fury wafting off him. _"And you will."_ He grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back, pinning me against the wall. My head was jostled with a snap. Fear and alarm filled my eyes. _"You know why, Kas?"_ He growled into my face. _"Because it's him dead on the ground, or it's Sammy bleeding out in the grass. It's him screaming or it's Jo dead with a headshot."_ Releasing a handful of my collar, Dean turned away to pick up the gun. I stood stock still as he picked it up and reloaded it and cocked it. Then he walked back and held out the gun. _"It's him dead the minute he's in your sights or you can kiss me goodbye forever."_

I stared at him. Jo gone. Sam dying. Lose Dean? Forever? My heart plummeted through my chest and sank into my stomach, sizzling and melting in acid and hardening into a rock in my gut. I reached out and took the gun. He put up another target and stood back and I lifted the pistol, trembling.

Images flashed in my head. A battle field. The only one I'd ever seen in person – the outside of the building I'd been taken from. I squinted. There was a man with a submachine aimed at Jo. I sucked in a breath and pulled the trigger and blew him away. Another one flanking left, shooting a spray of bullets at Sam, who was pinned down and out of ammo. I bit my tongue and blew the shooter's brains out. No hesitation, no falter. I whirled. Dean was reloading. Someone was lifting their glock 9mil to catch him off guard and I took aim and without remorse emptied the rest of my clip into his temple, watching his skull splinter and crack, spurting blood and brain until he flailed like he'd been hit by lightning and crumpled, dead and still.

The world faded back into view. The gun range was much darker than it had been before. I slid out the empty clip and it clattered to the floor, not looking at Dean as he took down the target. _"Good,"_ he said with steel in his voice. _"That's what I'm talking about." _A well of emotions rose in my throat, but I bit them back. Every single shot was within the boundaries of the painted head. He put it down and took the gun out of my hand. I still refused to look at him when he stood right in front of me. He took the plugs out of his ears, and then mine, gently as he could. The noise of the world returned.

"That's why I do it," he said softly, his baritone soothing. "To protect my family. You are my family now, Kas. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe. But in return, I need you to do the same for us." I just barely nodded to him and all I could see was the person I had to protect. He straightened my shirt with finality. "That's my boy. You did good, Kas. You did good."


	27. Chapter 26

_26_

_Complications Easily Swayed:_

_The Other_

Kas had not taken it well. He hadn't spoken since they left the gun range. Dean took him back to his room and let him sit down on his bed while he got to work on the plan again, bending over his desk. The blueprints were still a secret but he wasn't worried about Kas looking over his shoulder in that cold silence of his. He let him be. Maybe he just needed time to think about it.

One hour passed, then two. Kas barely moved. He stared at the wall motionlessly. His jeans hugged his strong thighs and calves, his shirt outlining his strong arms. All of him was built to be this killing machine. He could never escape that. Every time Dean glanced over he couldn't help but stare. He really was finely built. It was a shame he had to train him and make him kill like they did, but he was the finest weapon they had – and they had a lot of people to protect. Without him they were at a big disadvantage.

At the peak of another hour Dean couldn't stand it anymore - the plan was mostly done anyway. He put away his work and turned around. "Kas?" The android didn't respond. Dean got out of his chair and went over to the bed. Kas looked so dark and forlorn. Dean admired his dark chocolate hair, shimmering gold and brown in the bright lamplight, and the shadows cast over the planes of his face. His cheeks cut the light and shadow like samurai blades. Bending down, Dean took Kas's face in his hands. He smoothed the hair off his forehead with care and finally the android's eyes slid to his own. Shadows made the bags under his eyes look so deep. "I'm sorry, buddy. Sometimes I wish it didn't have to be like this. I really do," he whispered. "Sometimes I wish things were different. But they aren't."

After a moment of drinking him in, Kas lowered his eyes. He paused in thought. Then, lifting his gaze again, he closed his fingers around Dean's wrist. "I don't." He said with gumption. "If I have to protect you, and Sam, and Jo and Benny and Garth, then that's what I'll do. You're my family."

Dean laughed softly. "So what was the big silence for?" He asked, trying to fight back tears.

"I was contemplating the complexities of fornication. I haven't yet had the time to."

Dean wrapped him in a bear hug and tackled him back onto the bed, laughing. "You mean to tell me, all this time I thought you were pissed at me and you were thinking about _fucking _me?"

"Well," Kas grunted, being crushed in Dean's arms. "I was angry at first. While you were working I reached a suitable conclusion to explain your actions and I forgave you." He said simply. "After all, I baited you into anger, so my apologies. Fornication in general for any gender was what I moved on to. There are so many variations – but I must say, the idea of two males is much more pleasing ideally."

"You make it sound so easy. 'I forgave you.' As if you were gluing a broken plate back together."

"Once they're broken it's very difficult to recover all the pieces, Dean. It's an unfair metaphor." He pointed out, wiggling to pull Dean's arms off him and Dean allowed him to. Dean snapped his hands back to grab his ass when Kas relaxed his grip. Kas gave up as he felt his pelvis crush Dean's, pushing back into him. "You're very attractive, Dean. Are you aware?"

"A little aware." Dean grinned and kissed his cheek, hard. "You're the most attractive thing I've ever seen in my life. And I get to kiss you," he murmured. He lifted a hand to touch Kas's face, pressing his palm against his cheek. Kas grasped at his back and waist, humming low in his chest. He guided his mouth to Dean's and they kissed tenderly. They shifted on the covers of the bed until they were twisted up together.


	28. Chapter 27

_27_

_Waking Nightmares:_

_One_

The next day, I woke realizing that I'd never left Dean's bed. I was under his covers again on his pillow finishing another mental cleaning cycle. Drawing a deep breath through my nose helped kick start my sensors, and I blinked until my eyes adjusted to the morning. I didn't remember last night. We were talking, then… Nothing. I shifted to feel the chill on my thighs, seeing as the blanket was wrapped awkwardly around my torso. What had we done? Dean's room came into fuzzy focus. Something felt wrong. This bed wasn't like I thought it'd feel or expect after a night with Dean. It was cold, empty. I propped myself up on my elbow and stared at the unoccupied pillow beside me. I was alone.

Kicking my legs over the side of the bed, I threw off the tangled sheets and rubbed my face, pushing away the night. Where was he? His desk chair sat empty before his usual papers. His boots were gone. So was the pistol he kept on his nightstand. I frowned. Strange. Where would he be? I looked at the clock, and it glowed 5:30 A.M. just like always.

But last time I'd slept here, Dean had been here when I'd woken up. I'd even had to wait on him to wake. Something wasn't right.

I studied the scuff marks on the floor. Dean's rushed boot prints were covering the room as if he'd gotten up a while ago and paced for hours. Then they faded out the door. I dressed quickly and tied on my own boots, pushing the door open to go look in the hallway. Both ways everything was silent and empty but I could see his footsteps. They were quick and long, as if he were rushing.

I didn't like the feel of this. I ran. My legs had never felt better, my metal tendons like springs, but my heart had never hurt worse.

He hadn't come back. Why hadn't he come back? I was faster than lightning, dodging and ducking around doors and hallways. Dean's boot prints led me all over the facility. My hair flew, my eyes darted to follow his trail; it was his rounds. He had gone on a perimeter check to blow off steam – probably because he couldn't sleep, and didn't want wake me. I felt anger fill up my chest. I didn't need sleep. I didn't need my cycle, it was just cleaning. He could have woken me – he should have. I absolutely hated the idea of him wandering around alone without companionship in the endless and cold night.

Dean's footsteps went all the way around the building, then to meet Sam's by the council room. I stopped there, my systems pulsating, trying to keep my muscles lubricated. I looked around. Their footsteps mingled, and Dean seemed to lead his brother off, and it smelled sour, as if they'd argued. But Sam had followed. He was with him. I slowed down. If they were together, Dean should be ok, right?

* * *

_Waking Nightmares:_

_The Other_

The eerie echo of the night filled Dean's head and made him wild, restless. Anyone could be on their trail. Anyone. Anybody could have found them yesterday and waited until tonight to raid. Anyone could have infiltrated them and was lying in wait to kill his people, his family. His head pounded with scenarios that just made his heart beat faster and his hands itch for a gun until he couldn't take it. His green eyes slid open and drank in the dim light casting a glow on Kas's profile. His sharp nose. The tremble of his lips. Dean wanted to drift his lips over his cheeks and his forehead just one more time, ghostly, just so he wouldn't wake him – even if he'd spent all night doing just that before he'd dozed off for an hour, maybe two. But he'd woken up after a pretty bad start a while ago and now he was going crazy just lying around when his people, when Kas might be in danger. Kas's eyelids fluttered every now and then, as if he were really sleeping, and Dean didn't know, maybe this was robot sleep.

Refraining from doing anything to wake the Android, Dean slid out of bed and tied on his boots. He'd just think about it. Maybe he would walk a bit, get it out of his system, and come back. He got up and rubbed his face. Where would be the weakest part of the facility? The sunroom, the garage? The garage was more obvious, but the sunroom was a direct door to outside with a simpler bolt. The best thing would be to pick the lock and send a squad to bunker down in one of the empty rooms, use it as a base to store extra ammo while they took out rooms of his soldiers. He got up and started to pace. He ran through ever position, every gun, every way they'd be prepared for an attack like that. The clock ticked. An hour passed. Two. He moved around, not once sitting or loitering. His fingers combed through his hair and he grabbed a shirt and pulled it on. Then he was off again, thinking.

Dean glanced over at Kas as he paced. Every fiber of his heart wanted to crawl back into bed and wake him up in his sleepy confusion and spend the long hours 'til morning kissing every inch of his skin, and making him smile again. Dean hadn't ever thought Kas could smile. It'd taken him so off guard when he'd found out, he thought his heart was gonna leap right out of his chest. A bitter smile twitched his lips. But no, he didn't want to wake him. He wanted to wrestle this night without anyone to give his misery company.

He looked to his gun on the nightstand and sighed. Maybe a perimeter check would satisfy him that things were square. He picked up the shining gold-trimmed pistol and tucked it into the back of his jeans, pushing open the door gently and shutting it again with minimal noise. Then he was off down the hall as he tried to shrug off the creepy silence following his every step.

* * *

_Waking Nightmares:_

_One_

Quietly I continued my search. The cafeteria was where they led me to next; the smell of alcohol and anger tinged my nose. They'd fought, all right, pretty intensely from the recent traces left in the air. It probably didn't help that Dean was drinking whiskey – he wasn't a quiet drunk. While I walked out into the hall again my head was whirling with worries. What could be wrong, why were they fighting? I heard voices. My ears perked. Dean? I sprinted to the source of the sound, and found myself at the mouth of the staircase down to the basement.

_"That is __**NOT**__ why, Sam!" _

"You expect me to believe that? He looks just like him, Dean! I knew what this would do to you. I should have had them change his design - it would've set us back by months, but he's too much for you to handle. You're all screwed up!"

A loud, angry shout pierced the silence like a gunshot and I pressed my back to the nearest wall to hide. I went rigid and still. Dean and Sam's argument came trickling up in echoes and furious snarls, and to be honest I'd never heard them ever fight like this before.

"Deny it all you want," Sam seethed. "I know you, Dean."

"Jimmy wasn't anything _like _him!"

Sam laughed sharply. "You're drunk."

A scuffle of footsteps and grunting made me realize they were fighting. I took a risk and began to slide down the stairs, creeping down step by step to see if they were going to be ok. I was too worried to hold back. Arms and fists whistled as they flew through the air. Then Sam grunted loudly, like Dean had him pinned. Both of them were panting.

"Jimmy was an _asshole_," I heard Dean shoot back, his voice raw and trembling. "He _used_ me! You will never understand how that feels – not _ever!_ He was everything to me! He built me up and broke me in half! Every time I saw him, he'd string me along, and break me again and again, until I was _nothing!_ Do you understand me?" A thud. "I loved him. I _loved _him."

"You think I don't know?" Sam whispered, and I strained to hear as I slid down the wall along the stairs. "All this time has passed, and still those memories are the ones I can't get rid of. I was so bitter at the way you pined after a married man that it was a sour taste in my mouth for years. I can't even remember when it wasn't there. The hopeless fake laughter, and secret trips out into society alone, all that shit you pulled that put us in danger - I watched you throw yourself and your career away over that worthless piece of trash." Dean scoffed angrily and yet Sam kept on.

"And then the last time you spoke to Jimmy you came back heartbroken and cold, and you never changed. I'd been watching a long time, Dean. You couldn't ever change him. It wasn't your fault."

* * *

_Waking Nightmares:_

_The Other_

How had this started? Dean hardly remembered. Some conversation he'd tried to have with Sam, who had found him wandering and wanted to help. He always wanted to help. Well, maybe he didn't want help. Maybe he liked suffering. So screw him. Screw all of them. His pain was the only thing keeping him this sharp anyway. He was the best, the fiercest, the most loyal leader there was. But Sam had accused him of only loving Kas because he looked like Jimmy - felt like Jimmy, smelled like him... But he was wrong. Dean knew in his gut that wasn't why, but he couldn't deny that was part of it and that made him furious.

Why did Jimmy have to be part of this?! Why couldn't that horrible memory just go away?! One fling. Just one long conference, and one even longer night afterwards; those glowing eyes, the bitter taste of tequila and whiskey, the stubble catching at the corner of his lips… That old ache. The old question, long glazed-over for all sorts of reasons. It was ancient history come to bite him in the ass.

He could still feel Jimmy's tongue sliding over his own, pushing him down, and it subdued him. Cradling the whiskey bottle in his hand, Dean stared at his brother as he spoke, his soft words piercing needles into his heart. He saw red that ran like blood and fire in his veins and shoved his little brother up against the wall to shut him up, but he was ashamed. Ashamed because Sam knew, because he was the only one who Dean needed more than anybody else, and he knew how badly he had failed. The resolve that kept him so uptight for so long crumbled. He let Sammy go and stepped back and sank to his knees, staring at the floor. He'd let him down.

"Sure, I tossed my life away," he mumbled, "but that's what you do when you're in love – you make stupid mistakes. I made a stupid mistake." He sat back on his ass with a grunt and a groan, taking care not to break or spill the whiskey bottle. "I thought the guy had a heart, and I was wrong. I was so sure I could change him." He tightened his fist around the bottleneck, jaw clenching. "Jimmy was so hollow inside," he whispered, "all I wanted to do was fill him back up." Tears blurred the bottle in his hand until it was nothing but waves and colors. He bent his head and let them fall, unable to stop or hold back with the alcohol loosening his reins.

"I know. But the only person Jimmy loved was himself." Sam knelt and put a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Kas is not Jimmy. He really, really loves you, and I just want to make sure you're not making another stupid mistake by trying to get closure through him."

Dean shook his head. "No." He replied in a tone laden with tears, sounding just as sober as he felt. "I feel something for Kas that I never felt for Jimmy. Not ever. I wake up in the morning, and… God, I don't know, I feel better, you know? I feel healed. I used to wake up wanting to friggin' shoot myself in the head and get it over with already because I knew Jimmy would never... I knew but I couldn't help it. I wanted to help him. I wanted to make him feel something, anything for me, and just give him something to make him _human_ \- and he used that fear to get what he wanted. He knew what it was doing to me and that son of a bitch slept like a baby every goddamn night." Roughly, he pushed the tears from his eyes. "He was a monster playing at being a person. But he was so good at it… his kid and even his wife fell for his act. When she found out, boy," he laughed sadly. "That bastard. That sorry bastard."

"Dean." Both of them jumped.

They looked up in alarm to see Kas kneeling on the other side of Dean as if he'd appeared there by magic. "Kas," Sam blurted in shock. Although blurry, Dean could tell Kas was winded, like he'd been running all over looking for him, and it slowly sank in that he'd heard the whole thing. Sam was watching them both and holding his breath.

Kas's blue eyes were full of worry. "I understand now why my appearance caused you great distress, and why you were conflicted so long over your emotions." His brow creased with concern. "I wish you didn't have to feel that pain. But I realize my part in causing it." He lifted the bottle out of his grasp with his other hand, putting it aside. Then he met his eyes. "And I know my place to help you bear that pain."

"I never wanted you to feel like it was your fault," Dean said firmly.

The Android put his arm around Dean's shoulders tightly and kissed his temple. "It's ok, Dean. You are not alone. We love you, we want to help you carry this - let us." Sam smiled, his eyes soft in the dim light. He rested his hand on Dean's knee. Looking between his brother and his lover, Dean pressed his lips into a thin line. He'd always felt like if he shared his shame then it would all get worse – everyone would be pissed, or disappointed, and he'd lose everyone he cared about.

His eyes filled up again. "Thanks you guys," he managed. Dean leaned into Kas, who held onto him as he let the tail end of his flood gates course down his cheeks. Sam squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. They sat like that a long time before they helped him back on his feet.

"That whiskey smells awful," Sam commented, and they all laughed as they helped Dean up the stairs and back to bed.


	29. Chapter 28

_28_

_A Courageous and Rebellious Leader:_

_One_

The remainder of the night was drunken mumblings, fidgeting, and soft lips to a furrowed forehead to calm him again. Dean was difficult to wrestle back under the covers – he didn't want to relax when they were under so much threat, so close to our bewitching hour. But I managed to convince him that he'd be a better leader if he got some more sleep.

I slid under the covers and wrapped my arms around him to banish his unease. The galvanized mind only barely dulled by drink attached itself to me in return, using me as a barrier between him and his fears, his face resting in the crevice of my shoulder. Strong hands clutched at me. Heavy shoulders shifted and sighed before settling down. I shut my eyes. Our shared warmth lull him back to sleep.

In order to keep an eye on him I refused another cycle of my own. The hours until daylight were spent documenting everything Dean grumbled in his sleep and coaxing him away from his worries every time one arose to disturb him. My fingers carded through his hair, and I tried to remember what music he liked. The teenagers liked some new age things but there was something specific Dean liked. I tried to recall the names of the records on his shelf. When my memory provided titles, I booted up my connection to the information I'd gathered and located a band or two. A resounding noise in my chest thundered gently as Dean huffed into my shoulder, another dream pushing at his comfort. I tried to concentrate. The hum took on a distinct flow, musical notes stringing together, and took on the melody of a Metallica song. Each verse flowed in my head so easily. I grasped for the lyrics, wanting to know what it was about, and they drifted through the fog; each word slid through my fingers and soaked into my head permanently. I marveled at their meaning. No wonder Dean liked this band. He lived his life by some of these lines.

The effect of my hum on Dean was apparent - he eased muscle by muscle until he was finally still, soothed by the deep melody. I smiled, burning flames of affection licking at my heart, and scorching it with love as I lay protecting him from the weight of reality. My guard over him was a promise.

* * *

_A Courageous and Rebellious Leader:_

_The Other _

The morning came and went, as did the day. Kas stood close by Dean's side as he checked off sections of the facility that were entirely finished being packed up. Sam was directing the teenagers on how to load the truck – with his infinite patience and intimidation, he made the perfect drill sergeant. Garth was working out how to organize the family groups into vehicles. Benny was in charge of separating the sections Dean had created; he put up lists all over the facility for people to check and prepare to depart with their group, answering any and all questions he was attacked with.

Dean's hand slid down the page. Ever shelf stood empty. Every being had gathered their belongings. Even Kas had rolled his clothing into a duffel bag and specially made sure his socks and underwear were all neatly folded. Dean glanced at the Android. They exchanged a heavy look before lifting to observe the crowded garage. Both of them shared the same thought; this was their last time safe and peaceful in the only place they had known as a real home. After they left tonight, everything was going to change. One last meal was being prepared in the kitchen. The rest of the food was packed up. Even the bar was shut down. A few bottles of alcohol made it into each truck, but not much, Sam made sure of that. It was so… final.

They gathered in the cafeteria. Everyone sat, but no one touched their food - not yet. All eyes went to the doors as they swung open and the leader and his right and left hand man walked in. Dean got up on a table, hands in his pockets, glancing around casually at all the solemn faces. Kas and Sam stood by watching as well; encouragement and expectation weighed equally in their eyes.

The rebel leader chuckled. "Wow," he said quietly, and it echoed. "Look at all of you." His eyes slid over each face, each fearful look, each determined set of their jaws. A grin broke his somber gait. "You've all come so far; we all have. Hell, ten years ago if you'd told me I'd be standing here, head of this whole operation, I would've probably replied with something incredibly obscene." Laughter rippled through the crowd. "I'm serious - I wasn't a leader then. And you weren't soldiers.

"When I met the lot of you, you were just broken folks, struggling to make your suffering seem like it was worth something. You were looking everywhere to find revenge for the lives you lost, the love you'll never see again. Me, I was relying on my brother to keep my hot head under control, while we broke every rule you can imagine trying to get back at the people who took our family from us." He paused a moment, watching the soldiers' faces soften with old pain. "But it ain't like that now, is it? All of you, you've changed - we have banded together to make something useful out of our pain, and here we are: appointing me to lead you into battle against big wigs and fat cats thinking that collateral damage has just a few paperwork strings attached; shutting down operations to usurp the blue collar; saving people from the jaws of mass servitude, which they walk into so hopelessly, believing in their hearts that it's for the better of their families, and their country." He lifted his chin and his hands. "You used to be just soft, hard-working folks. What are you now?" Fingers curled into fists. "_Soldiers._ Freedom fighters! I've seen some of you load a gun so fast my head spun for a week! I've tried to quick draw to clip a guy fifty yards out and seen some of you drop him like a sack of flower before I could click off the safety." Proud chuckles and nudges broke the stillness of the crowd. "And you know why? Because you're solid. You're incredible, reliable folks, with so much power in your hands.

"I guess I'm just lucky you wanted to put that power to good use under my supervision." He swung around, looking at everybody at once. "Well we've shown them, haven't we? There _is_ more to bullying the masses than paperwork. We are living proof of that. _You _are living proof of that. We've battered them and kneecapped those sons of bitches and burned their plans and crapped all over their parades, because if they think for one second that they're getting away with it anymore - they are _dead_ wrong." Dean pumped his fist in the air. "_We_ are the ones who will persevere!" He shouted_. "We are the ones who will change the world!" _Cheers erupted. The noise was deafening in the long room. Dean jumped off the table and landed solid on the concrete, waving to his troops. "Now let's eat!" He boomed.

* * *

_A Courageous and Rebellious Leader:_

_One_

They ate their dinner and loaded up the trucks and about seven checks were run personally by Dean before he settled into the back of the very cargo truck we'd first made contact in. I sat with my bag between my legs on one of the makeshift seats, Sam and I leaving a space between us for him. He hopped into the back talking to everyone as he went, shaking hands and shoulders with all the men accompanying our section. Then he slid into his designated seat and dropped his bag at his feet, leaning back. "Ready, boys?" He asked, and received a resounding reply. This seemed to satisfy him. The truck roared to life with the clogging smell of gasoline, and Dean reached up behind his head and opened the thick plastic barrier between the driver's seat and the cargo back. "You know where you're going, hoss?"

"Yessir," the driver replied, and Dean nodded and slid the window shut once more.

I glanced around at the faces looking back at me. Men I'd come to know, women I'd become fond of, all packed in their gear and cradling what little belongings they'd opted to take with them. Some of them reminded me of Benny, and Jo, and Ellen. I felt a throb in my chest. I'd hugged Jo and Ellen goodbye earlier – Dean had assigned them to Garth's troop, apparently to be in that part of the plan – and had almost felt actual tears. I would miss them dearly. Garth seemed to be confident we'd meet again, so shaking hands with him was much more comforting, and of course Benny and Adam and Kevin were all shrugging off the idea of anything being permanent, let alone never meeting again. In my heart I knew we'd all be together again. I hoped so, anyway.

Dean grabbed me and Sam, breaking my trance, and knocked our heads together. "You're both blood to me," he grunted as Sam flailed. "One because he has no choice and Kas because I damn well say so." Letting us go, Sam laughed and shoved at him, and I rubbed my cranium. "So let's do this, huh?" Dean grinned. "Let's kick some ass!"

* * *

_A Courageous and Rebellious Leader:_

_The Other_

The trip was long and arduous. Hours and hours of night driving required a frequent change of drivers. Every half hour, Dean would mark their place on a map he produced from his pocket, recording how far they were traveling and how long it would take them to reach the first base camp. Every three hours they stopped to stretch, dug deep into cover somewhere. It gave Kas all sorts of new experiences. He emerged from the truck into a new world each time and studied every tree, and questioned every mark of graffiti under the bridges he saw, driving them all crazy with his incredible ability of ignorance. Once they even parked under a highway; Dean had never seen him quiet in the two other stops they'd taken, but Kas had stood by the river and just stared at the cars flying by, their tail and headlights flashing by like bolts of lightning. The sunset lit them from the horizon and cast everything in an orange glow. Everyone else was too tired to notice him wander off.

"They're like ants," he whispered, when Dean stood by his side. "It's a never ending streaming search for meaning and survival." His lover put a hand on his shoulder and they soaked it up as long as they could before they had to climb back into the truck and get moving again.

The rebel leader knew that their other sections would be in danger as well. He had ordered a cut off of all communication for every branch, not just theirs, and even though he couldn't stop their separate missions he did discourage anything too risky until the main plan was completed. So staying at their bases was out of the question. Instead, he'd chosen national parks and abandoned towns in a maze of travel that would both hinder their trackers and dissuade any outside interference.

They made camp three hours later in the trees thirty feet from a field. Across the railroad tracks beyond the field was a small town, buried in the middle of nowhere. Dean didn't expect they'd be bothered. The pitched their tents around the truck, bedding down in thick foliage. The troops were all out like lights once their heads hit the pillow, even despite the blaring sunlight overhead. But it was safer to travel at night. Besides, now Kas could sit outside all day while they slept, keeping guard and soaking up solar charge – by that I mean staring at the trees and counting the blades of grass in the dirt outside Dean's tent.


	30. Chapter 29

_29_

_Eccentricity and Much-Needed Rest:_

_One_

Days passed like this. Night riding, day dreams; but Dean didn't sleep much. In fact, he rose after only four hours of sleep and came outside normally, stalking around camp. It had been a week of this so far. These days, he usually just spent long hours sitting on a tree stump away from the tents and staring at his pistol. It was so strange to see him rub his eyes as if he weren't looking at it clearly enough every few minutes and change positions to continue staring. Sometimes I saw him gripping his knees until his knuckles were white. He often turned away from me when I tried to confront him about it, and then he'd pretend like nothing happened later when his gentle nature returned. It was baffling.

Today, I had gathered a small rock collection and was classifying them by group after having gathered suitable knowledge of the surrounding vegetation. Everywhere we stopped was so different. So fascinating. Dean came out of his tent like usual, but he sat down beside me, groaning softly. My surprise was obvious but he wasn't paying attention. He bent to glance over my work in the bright sunlight. His eyes were red, his hair still a mess. Even his shirt was all twisted up as if he'd tossed and turned. Adding the edginess to his body language his mounting unease became clear. I thought I had helped him coax it down when we'd slept alongside one another in the facility, but he was putting himself through much more stress being separated from his entire family as well as the building itself; not only could he not look after everyone anymore, but they had no walls to protect them if he couldn't. He would not rest well until this plan was over and his people were safe again.

I had tried my best not to take any of his misgivings personal. After all, just because the entirety of the problem was based around my creation, I had not asked to be made – or rescued, for that matter. Being able to accept that any choices I've ever made were for the good of Dean and our friends helped alleviate any unnecessary grief or personal blame. No – Dean was under great stress because of the actions of the Corporation, and their acknowledgement of my 'kidnapping.' If anyone was to blame, it was them. After all, they had created me, which is where the root of the problem lay.

His eyes lifted and seemed to look out into nowhere. "Ever think about getting a tan?" He grunted, out of the blue.

"The notion had never occurred, no," I replied, tilting my head in thought. I decided to play along with his spontaneity, in case it was a necessary coping mechanism for his current state of mind. He'd barely said a word that wasn't an order, even to me, since we started this mess.

" 'Course not. You got time, don't worry. I'll see to it that you can try at some point, if you want. I'm pretty sure with your whole rapid adapting thing you'd tan like crazy."

I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "You seem naturally tan."

"Nope. I do a lot of scouting. Sometimes recon is hours in the sun. I have a tough guy tan."

"It stops below the waist."

"… Shut up. You try taking off your pants in public for hours at a time to get it even."

"Why not do it now? All your men are unconscious for at least another three hours."

"I think you just want to see me naked." The image that popped into my mind was pleasing.

"This assumption is correct but not the intended purpose. The implication was that I did not mind guarding you while you did so."

"You're a piece of work."

"Very fine handiwork, if I may say so."

"I agree completely. Have you seen your ass?"

"My 'ass' occupies the back side of me, I cannot see it."

"Well I'd like to."

"Dean."

Sighing, he rubbed his face and shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

I glanced over at him and furrowed my brow. My senses were fully aware of his inner conflict, but I'd never seen him act this way before. His sexual frivolity was a weak barrier between my receptive deductions and his real problem. "I know you're too concerned to let yourself indulge in emotional actions, or else I would indeed indulge you. But it would only distract, not de-stress, and immediate guilt would follow."

* * *

_Eccentricity and Much-Needed Rest:_

_The Other_

"Doesn't mean we can't mess around," Dean protested. He got kinda horny when he was tired, and there seemed to be a pattern lately of him being sleep deprived and therefore tired more often, simultaneously making him hornier. Now was one of those times.

"That is precisely what it means." Kas replied blatantly.

Groaning again, Dean lay back in the grass, covering his face with his hands. Why did he have to be right – what happened to the old days, where he just accepted anything he said as fact? He was growing up. "I can take a little guilt. I've killed people, for God's sake!"

A pause. "Is that what this is about, Dean?" He asked gently. "Are you using your guilt as a killer to distract you from your worry over your people?"

"No," Dean snapped, sitting up and looking at him angrily. "I'm not." At least, he didn't think he was. He didn't want to think about anything except his people and how worried he was. The way Kas was squinting at him and over the past few days made him rethink himself, though. "Maybe. I mean, you just brought it up back at the bunker, and… I don't know. I tried to never think about it."

"So you want to indulge in a new guilty action in order to distract you from other guilt you were using to distract you from your worry?"

"No!" Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and took a long, slow deep breath. What was he thinking, really? What _was_ this about? He'd never skulked before. Not ever. He thought about it a minute, composing himself, and squinted over at Kas. "Don't compare us together to killing folks, ok? I could never be guilty about being with you." He glanced at the other tents furtively, as if they were listening. "Unless somebody got hurt. I'd be guilty about that forever. But never about us." His head bent forward. "My worry is way too huge to take a back-burner to anything. It'll never be covered up, Kas, not even a little - which is why I'm trying to think about something that won't drive me crazy. Or… already has."

At Kas's confusion, Dean smirked and slid an arm around his waist, pulling him in and kissing his temple. That seemed to clarify things. "Your metaphors lose me on occasion," Kas admitted. "But I understand entirely. I apologize for prodding."

"I'd like to prod you," Dean mumbled, humming as he pressed his cheek to Kas's as he got in close and wrapped his arms around him.

"Dean," Kas sighed contently at the contact. He embraced Dean warmly. "You need more rest, not physical satisfaction."

"Says who?" He shot back grouchily.

"Says I."

"I can't," Dean said shakily. "I need to be awake."

"Why?"

"What if someone's been following us?" Dean exploded. "They'd just be waiting for me to let my guard down, just for long enough-"

"Dean." Kas looked into his bright green eyes, the dark bags under them alarmingly deep. "I am a weapon. If anyone comes within spitting distance, as Benny says, I will neutralize any and all of them for the safety of the section." He put his hands on Dean's shoulders. "You are not functioning at your full capacity like this. Your emotional output has become dangerous and reactive. Therefore, I am ordering you to rest."

The rebel leader stared at him. "What?" He blurted.

Kas dragged Dean to his feet. "You. Rest, right now. I do not sleep, Dean, not ever – I would do anything to keep you and these people safe." He took him back into his tent, where he zipped up the door and peeled off his shoes and shirt. "Strip." He ordered snappily. "You will restore your usual vigor only when you comply." Shocked, but unwilling to argue, Dean did as he was told. He really wasn't used to Kas doing anything dominant. Ever. The Android slid into Dean's sleeping bag alongside him, wrapping him up in a fortress of his body until the tired leader gave in. He shut his eyes, then grumbled for a while, then finally let himself drift off to snatch a few more hours of sleep. It was a lot nicer than he thought it'd be. For the first time in a week, he'd feel well rested when he woke again.


	31. Chapter 30

30

_Comfort in Permanence:_

_One_

After a few days, Dean began to recover. His pacing didn't cease. But the rest of his odd behavior faded away. His pistol remained in his thigh holster, his tension eased, and he began to sleep more – as long as I was there, anyway. Eventually I had to take to waking up a scout and giving him an excuse to sleep in the truck later - so he could keep watch - because keeping Dean healthy was my top priority. This mission wasn't even fully understood by the other generals; even Sam was feeling left out when Dean denied him company as well as an explanation. So if anything happened to Dean at all, we would be at a serious disadvantage.

Besides, I was concerned. Without me, it seemed more and more difficult for him to recover, and yet I was forced to limit our time together in order to keep up the illusion of our platonic relationship. So I was torn. Did I break my promise not to let anyone know we were together? Or did I let Dean suffer alone? Most of the time I could manage to wait until all the men were asleep, but when I could not, I confided in Ash - who was a very intelligent part of the team – and told him that I was keeping vigilant watch over Dean personally in order to observe his mental health. This was true. But by avoiding certain truth, such as the fact that we liked to do other activities when neither of us could get him to sleep, I was lying. It didn't sit well in my chest.

I had found a fallacy in my system in order to lie. Of course, I'd done so before, when concealing my secret night with Dean from Jo and Ellen. But this was much worse. It wasn't just a few friends. These were men who relied on Dean for their lives, and I was lying to their faces every day about the fact that the only thing tying Dean to a stable sleep schedule – and by default his sanity - was me.

We had only two interferences from the outside world - both times, a skilled soldier had crept into camp and tried to steal Dean's plans. And both times, I had woken like a creature of the night from Dean's side and tackled them to the ground with every bit of my bone-crushing strength. My basic programming taught me how to muffle his cries of pain and bind both his wrists. Then the whole section would be up in arms making a ginormous ruckus until Dean handed me hand-cuffs and I restrained the soldier properly. Then we turned them over to Sam, who stripped them for weapons and duct taped them into a cocoon, leaving them hanging from a tree we left behind when we drove away that night, hooting and hollering from the back of the trucks.

People rarely questioned why I was the first on the scene. They didn't suspect in the least that I actually sleep in Dean's tent because of my incredible speed and agility; everyone just assumed I was a lightning bolt, one that could cross any distance in the blink of an eye. I wasn't sure if that was true. But I'd never tried to before, so I didn't deny their assumptions.

* * *

_Comfort in Permanence:_

_The Other_

The press of the outside world had wormed its way into Dean's head like a sickness, making his eyes shake and his vertigo spin as if the sky were falling down around him. He usually acted more normal than he felt. Kas didn't suspect it was this bad, and neither did Sam, who always saw through his crap. Always. Maybe it was because Dean was in shock. Sometimes it got so bad that he had to lie on his back and dig his nails into the dirt just to hold on to something while the rest of him flew around without his permission. He'd never experienced a sort of pressure like this before. It was so crushing that he didn't think he could comprehend it all at once.

On top of his newly recognized sexual acceptance, and his realization of devotion to an Android, he was pushed out of his home and torn away from over half his people, who he believed to be in mortal danger without him present. On top of the fact that his plan was insane, and no one knew about it, and no one _could_ know until it was already in action, and it was too late to stop.

Well, maybe he did comprehend it.

Sometimes it was fun. Exciting, even; to sit back and let his brain take the wheel, throwing him all over the sky in a rickety rollercoaster ride. It was very mind-numbing. He enjoyed those moments. But besides that it was pretty freakin' horrible.

He couldn't let anyone know. They'd make him fork over his plan and everything would go to shit. No way had he predicted this much stress, but he was prepared to sacrifice a lot more for this plan to be a success. A lot more.

Kas helped probably more than he knew. His presence was like an anchor keeping Dean tied to the Earth. Dean would put his hand on Sam's shoulder and crack a joke, or teach a young kid how to clean his own gun, but absolutely none of that compared to the bond he shared with Kas. He'd come in from a long night of perimeter checks, only stopping to do his rounds in the camp when the sun was up, and finally he'd get back to their tent. Already they had a system. Dean would have tossed his own effects inside as soon as they'd pitched camp before stomping off again, not even thinking to clean it up, and Kas would put his own bag aside until no one was paying attention. Then, when the men were all in exhausted slumber, or busy elsewhere, he would go into the tent and make their bed with both their sleeping bags and strip down to his jeans and just… wait. He procured the left half of the tent with a few samples of all the places they'd stopped and his duffel bag and boots.

Every morning, Dean came back to Kas, softly ruffled and patient Kas, and slunk into his arms. He let himself cosset the rare gift of having someone be his other half during all this mess. Kas knew he was being smothered in affection for this reason, but never brought it up, rather choosing to covet Dean in return. He understood the weight of his lover's stress. But he didn't even touch on its depth – even so, he would have done anything to help him feel better, and Dean knew that.

* * *

_Comfort in Permanence:_

_One_

The rebel leader treated my body in his grasp every night as if it were worth an entire country's riches, acting so saccharine and doting on me so much that sometimes I forgot completely that we were being chased by thousands of killers. Pouring his love all over me was the only way Dean had left to ease stress off both of us, and God knew we had plenty of that. So it was safe to say that the bond between us strengthened about ten-fold on a daily basis. Dean knew my rhythm and I knew his, using that knowledge to occasionally take advantage of his or my surprise, and we sometimes manipulated one another into a desired action. Mostly it was Dean doing the manipulating. I figured it was his method to communicate his needs, and always was happily obedient to requests. I saw it as give and take.

We reached the rendezvous point after three weeks on the road. An entire town had been left to rot about ten years ago because of some sort of economy failure in the area, so there were a handful of overgrown houses, and even empty stores and barns just waiting to be used. When we pulled up, the sun had just begun to rise. We left our vehicles in the cover of the trees as we unpacked. Dean positioned himself in the center of the town – he chose a large house, stating that here would be our HQ; he, Sam and I would live upstairs, and Ash set up all the communication equipment in the living room on the ground floor. We also filled the basement with our extra supplies that Dean wanted available if anything happened to the other houses.

Dean certainly acted more at ease now that we were stationary. He had walkie-talkies in every house, with every group, and we had a steady supply of fresh water. The only thing we had a problem with now was supplies. We were running low after weeks of feeding thirty plus people.

At dinner – which we had right before going to bed every morning – Dean announced his plan to replenish us. He would lead a few groups of them tomorrow night into towns south of our camp, and make sure each of us got the right amount so that when it was all added together it would be sufficient for all of us for the next week or two. But we wouldn't hit just one place, or one area, or else someone would see a pattern of surplus being bought up and track us back here. It was very clever. And well thought out. But it had to be, when this many people were on your tail.

I, Dean, and Sam all retreated back to HQ after dinner as the rest of the soldiers retired to their own houses, all of us too ready for actual beds. When Dean and I climbed the stairs he turned to Sam, who lagged wearily behind him. "I just wanna apologize in advance if we-"

"Don't worry about it," Sam interjected diffidently, holding up a very small plastic bag that held two orange objects. His suppressed grin was very quirky. "I've been wearing earplugs for weeks."

* * *

_Comfort in Permanence:_

_The Other_

Finally having a real bed was… unreal. Dean paced around the room trying to ignore it, pushing his things into the dresser in perfect color order by size and style. He took up only two in a four-drawer dresser, leaving Kas plenty of space, but lingered over his so much that he denied his lover the ability to organize his own clothes. He didn't want to look at the half rotted king size bed Kas was stretching sheets over. It felt too… permanent.

"Hey, where did you get those sheets?" Dean questioned as he sat down on a blanket chest to hike up his socks. He knew they hadn't packed any sheets because of the sleeping bags.

"Closet shelf. It was all there was left." The Android neatly smoothed the top sheet before opening both of their sleeping bags as blankets over them.

"We don't need those." Getting to his feet, Dean came up behind Kas and put his hands on his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder. He pushed his hands under the cotton shirt. "The ground was cold outside, but in here heat rises." The gruffness to his tone was softened only by his touch. "We'll sweat to death. Especially with the humidity here."

The head of dark chocolate hair tilted. Kas's pale jaw, dusted by a light beard because of their lack of shaving cream, clenched in slight irritation as he considered this. "You are correct. Very intuitive." He sighed through his nose as Dean's palm rubbed circles on his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut, irritation evaporating. "They even have a shower," he added wistfully.

"I'll go kick it on to see if it still works before Sam finds out. He'll want to pamper his precious head of hair." Chuckling, Dean kissed Kas's neck sensuously before sliding out into the hall to do just that. This place was old – probably early sixties – because the hallways were narrow and the stairs were pretty damn steep. The wood floors creaked like crazy as he opened the door to the small bathroom alongside their room. Just a toilet and a sink, no shower. Sam was still unpacking when he passed by his door and descended the stairs. With Kas sleeping with him, there was a vacant room across from them, but because no one else knew for sure that they were indeed sharing, it would remain empty or be used for extra supplies. Dean would see to that. He wasn't ready for more stress, especially from his loyal team.

He pushed open the door to the guest bedrooms downstairs. They were full of battery power for the computers and back-up generators for their gear. At last Dean made it to the main floor master bathroom. It was narrow, with a toilet and sink across from the tub shower, but it would do. It was clean enough.

Leaning in, he jiggled the water knob, and a steady stream of cold tap came pouring out. At first it was a little brown. Dean left it, turning on the sink as well. Both of them were brown for about five minutes, then fresh water began to pour in. He shut both of them off when he was satisfied and flushed the moldy toilet. No hot water. It was all temporary, so it would have to do, but maybe now that they weren't pressed to move they could search out some bleach and take a crack at the hot water heater and make this place livable.

Dean climbed back upstairs reluctantly. Rubbing his arms, he leaned into Sam's room once he reached the second floor. "How goes it, brother?"

Reloading his gun, Sam had his things tossed alongside the mattress on the floor, which he had messily covered in a spare sheet. He looked exhausted. "Fine. Good. Bit of a roach problem in this room, but I took care of it." He cleared his throat, pushing his hair out of his face with nimble fingers. "I'm gonna crash when I finish this. So if you two… you know… just don't shake the whole house."

His older brother chuckled and rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Sleep well, tiger. We'll keep it down." He swaggered back to their room, stumbling in surprise when he saw Kas had already put everything away. It looked like they lived here already - like it was their house. "Wow, baby." His green eyes were wide, the bed anxieties dulled considerably. "It looks great."

Kas walked up to him and gave him an odd look. "Baby?" His scorn was apparent.

Dean shrugged. "Endearment. I know it's new – thought I'd try it out. Doesn't feel right, huh?" Wrinkling his nose was the only reply he got from Kas. Dean took the other male by the hands. "Ok, I'll drop it. Maybe another one. Come on - let's go scrub off that layer of grime off our skins."


	32. Chapter 31

31

_Hard-Earned Pleasure and Pain:_

_The Other_

Dean bent down low, sliding his nose alongside the Anroid's until he could feel his hot breath curling against his cheek. He always took a moment to appreciate this this version of Kas; face all red, eyes glazed over, and so blue under the wreck of his dark hair. The heave of his chest tried so hard to adapt his body to the climax about to happen, trying to calm his overworking heart. But it didn't matter. It was never enough. He couldn't be backed off this kind of high until it was over, and since it was Dean who made him this way, it was Dean's job to help him finish it.

His back muscles rippled as he lowered himself further down onto his lover, hands pressing into the sheets on the bed. "How you feelin'?" He murmured softly, tasting the trembling lips that were his and his alone. They kissed with relish for a few minutes before Dean let him breathe.

Kas's lungs shuddered. "Adequately riled, as always," he managed. One of his hands was anchored on Dean's thigh, the other on the back of his neck. Of course both of these were just to keep a good grip. Dean wouldn't easily be pushed around in bed - even by Kas's iron grip. Which was perfectly fine. Kas seemed to like not having to decide what to do next, because to be perfectly honest the whole act sort of went beyond his capacity to lead. He could do just about anything else with gusto. But when it came to dominance, he was too delicate with Dean, too afraid to take control if it meant injuring him. He was very shy about his own strength.

"Your turn," Dean stated, kissing the blush in Kas's cheek. "Remember, delicate equipment."

"But, I'm too-"

"Don't worry so much. You just gotta be careful." Dean smiled charmingly. He didn't usually let Kas do the work – maybe since he felt more relaxed in a house, he was finally ready to teach him how to do this stuff.

After a moment or two of pensive thought, Kas looked up into Dean's eyes and nodded, tight-lipped. He released his hold on Dean's thigh. Sliding his hand between their bellies, he closed his hand gently around both of the stiff limbs he'd come to know very well, his and Dean's. A soft intake of breath followed a shot of pleasure through his pelvis. Over top of him Dean made a noise of approval that mirrored his own, shifting his hips into it. A flutter in Kas's heart encouraged him further, and he rested his other hand along the side of the Dean's neck and thumbed his cheek as he began to work them both. He focused as much as he was able to through the suffocating pleasure already making everything else besides them fade away. With his brain trying to get him to pant harder, and the chemicals burning in his veins, it was hard to get a grip.

Then a desperate hunger crept up in his belly, spreading so quickly to the rest of him that he quickened his rhythm without thinking. The amplified pleasure sped up the process and he sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes, grabbing Dean's mouth with his own desperately. Dean replied to the kiss with evenly matched fever and fucked into Kas's hand at the same pace. He was taken aback by the stability Kas showed in his grip. Usually that was practiced for ages and ages before it was this steady. Then again, he was above normal in the talent department for this sort of thing; every now and then he'd just automatically be good at something. As if he'd seen tutorials.

Dean focused on the rub of their cocks together as he sucked on Kas's lower lip. He had missed that the most, out of everything else he had deprived himself of for ten years. There was just something about sharing a hand that made him want to let out a ragged moan. Kas's dick was like warm velvet on the outside and concrete on the inside, and he pushed his own against it eagerly, glad for once that there was a crushing grip between them and accidentally slipping apart. God, he loved it. He loved this, he loved Kas. He couldn't wait to see him finish. He might've missed the rub the most but the end was the best part to watch, especially in someone who relied on you for all their needs - and in their lives, always had.

Kas's signature gasp signaled he was right on the verge. He clung to Dean like he was a lifeline and his head tilted back, straining against the rush. Dean lowered himself to his elbow, sinking his teeth into Kas's neck as he rocked harder, Kas pumping up his speed to match. He felt the sticky build-up. It tickled, then it grew, and finally it exploded into neon colors behind his eyelids. The climax had them both blinded by ecstasy. The bed rocked madly as the both of them finished, Kas moaning hastily and hammering until every last drop of orgasm was gone, poured over their chests like proof of a night well spent. The hurricane of pulsating pleasure faded slowly. The stretch and grind of their hips eased, their bodies falling together. Kas turned his head to kiss Dean with rough passion. Dean pushed his fingers through Kas's dark hair as they shared another hungry moment of exhausted affection.

"Jesus," Dean breathed shakily, kissing Kas with rough lips.

"Is not involved in this sexual transaction." Kas's tongue slid over his lips before he parted them to suck in more air. "In fact, a great many people would be offended if he was."

Dean grinned against his unshaven cheek and weak laughter shook his shoulders. "I swear, I love you – I love you so much, Kas," he rumbled, kissing his face.

Taking the rebel leader's face in his hands, Kas pushed their foreheads together gently. "And I you. " His tone was soft and his glowing blue eyes slid open languidly. He soaked up the weariness in Dean's expression. "You need to rest. We should rid ourselves of this mess."

Nodding, Dean slid out of bed and groaned, stretching his aching arms and legs. A lovely smear decorated his solid torso. But it was Kas who got the front of the disaster. Dean had to run buck naked to get him a damp towel from the bathroom before the guy sat up and it went everywhere.

He left Kas to clean up and shut himself in the bathroom, so if Sam got up he wouldn't be too scarred for life. They'd gotten pretty good at this. At first it was mostly Dean flustering the Android until he was too horny to resist, and a whole lot of making out, but it had evolved at a pretty steady pace. Kas had no problem whipping up a hard-on as long as it was clear what Dean wanted. Unfortunately, he had his chemicals under control, so when Dean tried to tease a boner out of him in public, he failed miserably - but by example Kas had managed to do it to Dean a few times. Then again, sometimes Dean got turned on when he just saw Kas bent over, so that wasn't saying much. But it was spiritually healing to fuck someone he felt this attached to – it really was.

* * *

_Hard-Earned Pleasure and Pain:_

_One_

I discovered that my body had finally become accustomed to the level of physical requirements I had to reach in order to endure, and enjoy, sexual intercourse. The soreness was minimal. My muscles felt well used. Although my body was still calming down, I believe it was well understanding of this action now. The damp towel Dean had given me was cold against my hot skin. I swept the evidence off my belly and ribs and considered my overly-sensitive, exhausted appendage. It was also in need of a wipe down. But I was wary. Last time I'd given myself quite a shock trying to do that.

Just then, Dean returned from the bathroom neatly polished. He stood in the doorway staring as I sat up and glanced at him. "What?" I questioned curiously, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and tossing aside the damp towel.

"I like this." He confessed, and I watched him cross the room.

"Specify, if you would?" Observing the roll of his muscles beneath his skin gave me a deep mental satisfaction. The soft morning sunlight played across his shoulders and his neck as he knelt between my knees carefully, rubbing my legs.

"I like seeing you in my bed. A real bed." His eyes were rippling pools of honey whiskey and pale jade. "I know we were together a little at the facility, and I liked seeing you sleep in my bed there, too. But this is just…"

"Different?" I offered.

Smiling, he nodded. "Yeah. Good kinda different," he hummed. He sealed this statement with a kiss. I lingered a little longer before we parted. He took a deep breath. "But being in a house, being like this with you, like we're a real honest to goodness couple… Even as much as I love it, I know it might not ever happen. Not with the way I live."

"We knew that when we started this, Dean."

He shook his head and held out his hands. I grabbed hold of them obediently. "I don't know what I'm gonna do, Kas," he whispered, like he was terrified of something. Ice prickled my heart.

Terrified? I was struck into silence. I'd never heard him _scared_ before – let alone terrified.

"I don't know what's gonna happen to all of us. We can't have any contact with the others while we're separated; at least not until they get to their rendezvous point, if they even get there. They could have been found already. They could be dead, all of them." I stared at him as he bent his head against our clasped hands like a man in prayer. "They could be dead. And we could be dead tomorrow ourselves."

I didn't know what to do. He was trembling like a leaf in a hurricane and clutching my hands so tightly that it hurt my phalanges and the hickies he'd just given me burned on my throat like a foreboding storm warning. My whole body refused to move.

"I want this," he rasped, and I heard tears in his voice. "But I can't have it. I don't deserve it, not after everything I've done. All the people I've killed, all the hearts I broke… I'm a selfish, Hell bound son of a bitch, and ain't nothing gonna change that. Not even this. Not even us." He took an uneven breath. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." When he lifted his head there was a different man in his eyes. A broken, lost man, and I felt a stake in my heart. "I wish I could make this for you. I wish I was strong enough to walk away, Kas, but I'm just… not."

What did he mean? Walk away from the rebellion? From death and secrets and an underground facility full of broken, war-hardened people? It was his life. What did he mean, not strong enough? Did he know… something I didn't? Pain in my chest made it difficult to think.

"Stop it!" I snapped, surprising both of us. I got my hands back and grabbed his shoulders and I made him look at me. "You're a good man, a truly good man! You've saved more people and given more hope to the world than anyone else could have in seven lifetimes – you deserve to be happy, Dean!" I was shouting now, but I didn't care. "Stop saying that! Don't ever say that! Don't ever say you don't deserve this!" He stared at me, his lips sealed shut. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.

"Dean," I whispered. "You… You saved me. You make me _feel_. I feel so much for you, for what you are and why you are, and what we have - don't just throw it out like… like it doesn't matter, like I don't matter." I'd dealt with his degrading mental health for weeks. I couldn't take the forefront of it now. It was too much. My eyes seemed to blur him. Colors and shapes swelled up in them, and spilled over, wetness trailing down my cheek and snaring in my beard. I bent my head and screwed my eyes shut. What was this horrible crushing feeling? It clogged up my throat and made my head hurt, and all this water on my face tasted salty. A sob rattled out of me.

"I'm sorry," Dean stammered. "I'm so sorry, Kas – please!" I knew it wasn't his fault. I just couldn't help myself. He was pleading but I just couldn't stop crying. "Please, I didn't mean it. I love you. Kas, I love you!"

I snatched his wrists when he tried to touch my face and tightened my grip until he yelped in pain. "Don't touch me_,_" I whispered, and it felt good to say, so I shouted it. I pushed passed him and got up, grabbing my jeans and storming out of the room. All I saw was red. Red everywhere. Covering the walls and the stairs and the door when I stumbled into my jeans, buttoning them before clumsily stumbling into the bright front yard. I didn't know where I was going but it didn't matter. Nothing did. The sky was red and the grass was red and I trudged barefoot across the bumpy dirt and then across the hot asphalt, unaware of how far to go and for once unconcerned about the fact. The houses blurred by.

Dean was sick. Humans got sick all the time. He would get better. I walked until I heard a creek and looked down at my feet for the first time. They were damaged; a few cuts were seeping a dark fluid. I sank down beside the narrow rush of water and gingerly sank my feet into the current. The cold alone shocked my sensors to numb the pain. Water rippled around my ankles. I was surrounded by trees and bushes and a bed of leaves and sticks. The sounds of the day soared above me and pressed in like a threat. I covered my eyes with my hand, leaning heavily on the other, which was pressed into the forest floor.

He was just sick. Dean was just sick. He would get better.

Wouldn't he?


	33. Chapter 32

_32_

_Expecting the Unexpected:_

_The Other_

"Kas! KAS!" Dean shouted after the Android, but he was gone. Down the stairs and across the yard before Dean could pull on his jeans. Where was he going? He stuck his feet into his boots and leaned on the windowsill and watched in shock as Kas vanished into the woods. There could be killers out there! What was he doing?! He was in danger!

"Dammit," he whispered, his emotions throbbing in his chest angrily. What had he done? What the hell was wrong with him? He didn't understand what had happened. One minute he was talking about a life together, and the next he was babbling like an idiot - spilling stuff that he never told anybody. It was a miracle he hadn't let slip anything about the plan. But this… this was bad enough. Poor Kas. He didn't mean to tell him all that. Sure he believed it, but it was cruel to crush his hope like that, to make him feel like Dean didn't care at all about their bond.

He rubbed his face shakily. He was slipping. Something was wrong in his head. How could something be wrong in his head? Quickly he zipped and buttoned his jeans, tying his boots on tight. He pulled on a shirt and grabbed a spare from his drawer. Then he went to the door, where Sam stood blocking it, rubbing his head.

"What the hell happened?" Sam grunted.

Dean stood back. "Nothing, ok? I got a little weird, and we… had a disagreement."

His brother squinted at him. "Weird? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Dean snapped. "I have to go find him, Sam, it's too dangerous for him to be out there by himself."

"I'll help you look for him."

"No!" Dean shoved passed and thundered down the steps and vanished into the morning. Sam stared after him, shocked.

Following the direction Kas had stalked off, Dean pushed through the trees, squinting. "Kas?" He called. "Kas, come on. Please!" He pushed through the undergrowth, cursing himself as he went.

He was an asshole - a fucking asshole. All the guy ever did was make sure he would stand on both feet by himself and what did he do? Dump all that crap on him. He didn't deserve that. Dean knocked away a branch angrily. And he didn't deserve Kas, either. He was a sorry son of a bitch, and Kas was innocent as they come. Well, he _had_ been, anyway.

Maybe it'd been happening for a while. Dean had been pretty out of it since they left. All this stress was making him into a monster. Kas needed to punch him; he needed to kick the shit out of him for all the shit he was putting him through. Dean shoved at a pile of dead branches and they collapsed to the ground loudly. Why did everything have to be this way, why?! Why couldn't they have just been born stupid and normal and fucked in the back seat of a '67 Impala, and gone to the movies, and moved in together, and just been in love?

"Why can't things just be _normal?!_" He yelled.

When the angry echo had faded, and his panting quieted down, the sound of rushing water met his ears. He turned instinctively in the direction of it. Dean stepped through the trees and saw the creek, and the figure sitting on the edge of it. "Kas," he breathed, and rushed forward. Shirtless, crumpled, his feet in the water – it was Kas. Dean knelt beside him and draped the flannel button down over his bare shoulders, kneading them where his hands rested.

The Android started at his touch, recoiling as if struck. Dean let go and backed off. "Are you ok?" He asked quietly as Kas turned and looked at him. He held up his hands in a show of peace.

Kas's eyes were red and puffy, vividly clear in his pale face. He stared at Dean with storm clouds on his brow. But he said nothing, did nothing.

Dean knelt where he stood, knees in the dirt. Silence stretched. He didn't know what to do, what to say. How did you apologize for the truth? He rubbed his face and shook his head and looked at his lover. "You mean the world to me, Kas," he began shakily. "I… something is going on in my head, and it's not your fault. It isn't. I don't know what's wrong with me." He felt an awful black sickness in his heart at the way Kas's furious glare softened right into sadness. Dean put his hands on his thighs and bowed his head. "You don't have to forgive me. I shouldn't have said what I said to you, not ever - there isn't anything in my heart that would ever downgrade how much your love means to me. There are just… things that I can't come to terms with." He looked up at him guiltily. "I'm sorry. I mean it. I'm so sorry, baby."

"I don't like 'baby.'"

Surprise rendered Dean dumb for a few seconds. His brain clicked into place. "What?"

Kas held out his arm, inviting him closer. "I like 'buddy.'"

Dean nodded. The tension broke. He slid over to his lover and wrapped him up in his arms. "Ok," he replied softly. "Ok." Kas shut his eyes, leaning into him heavily, and wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulder and grabbed the back of his head comfortingly. Dean kissed his temple, just holding him until their warmth and their breath mixed together and became one. Then he kissed his temple again and took a shaky breath. "It's not safe out here."

Kas drew back. "Then let's go back to bed."

Looking into his eyes, Dean nodded again and got up. He pulled Kas to his feet. Before they headed back, he helped Kas put his arms into the sleeves of the shirt, and buttoned it up. Only then did they link hands and start back towards town.

* * *

_Expecting the Unexpected_:

_One_

As soon as we'd cleared the trees, the sound of four guns cocking stopped us in our tracks. We didn't see anyone. I felt my throat close up in panic and Dean pushed me behind him. Not very smart, seeing as I was the bulletproof one. "It's us," he barked. "Stand down."

"Dean?"

I recognized that voice. Two guys dressed in black and toting submachines emerged from behind a rusty water heater, and three more figures came from behind them. Two were our own. One wasn't.

"Lisa?" Dean blurted.

Of all people - tan, beautiful, ruffled Lisa stumbled to control her men. "Stand down, stand down. We found them." Lisa pushed at the guns in the men's hands and they lowered them at once.

He was right. It was her. "Ms. Braeden!" I said as she came running up to us, smoothing the jeans she wore with her palms. Her eyes were bright, but tired.

"Hello, boys," she smiled. "Miss me?" We lead her and her security team, who was detaining Ash and another boy on patrol, to our house. Dean had them turn his boys loose. Then he led them inside and let Lisa sit on the old couch in the middle of all the tech clutter. When I sat on a table, she stared at me. "So you grew a beard. It looks very rugged, Kas."

I blinked. "Thank you. With our lack of sufficient razor supply I deemed shaving unnecessary, and after the first time it seemed to grow back much more quickly."

"Well, it suits you. And your feet! What happened?"

"We heard something out in the woods," Dean lied easily. "We've already had a few people come after us, so Kas went running out without shoes looking for trouble and I went out after him."

"I figured you'd been attacked a few times. We found them cocooned up in trees."

"What? You've been following us, too?" His nerves were becoming obvious.

"Jesus, Dean!" Lisa threw up her hands. "I'm sitting here in the flesh, what the hell do you think happened?"

That made him grouchy. "How did you find us?"

"Not for lack of trying." She shot back. "We followed your trail. Those spies were wearing tracking devices. If we hadn't found them, someone would've followed them right to what we found."

"Yeah, ok," Dean snapped. "Fine. But why are you here?"

Lisa stood up and balled her fists. "Because I'm a damn important part of your little groupies, Dean Winchester, and when you up and vanish into the night without even leaving a goddamn voicemail telling me you're on vacation in Rio, I figured you'd be doing something harebrained and dangerous." She crossed the room in two strides and smacked him across the face with a loud slap. Her dark hair sliced through the air and her eyes burned like fire. "You're a selfish ass, Dean! I was worried you were all dead or dying at the blade of some convoluted assassin about to have your head memorialized and here you are, sitting pretty with a third of your regimen!"

"I did what I had to do to keep my people safe." Dean said darkly. "I didn't know if they'd tapped your phones. Your connection with us was all over the news."

"You couldn't send one kid to my doorstep to tell me you'd picked up and left?"

"There wasn't enough time, Lisa."

"Well I guess it doesn't matter now," she said darkly. "Here I am. Now tell me what's going on."


	34. Chapter 33

_33_

_Old Flames and Even Older Friends:_

_One_

We didn't sleep. After another hour of explaining and arguing with Lisa, Dean dismissed me. He said I didn't have to sit through this, so I went upstairs, where I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Of course, it didn't matter. I could still hear them both. He stayed up all day talking to Lisa about who knew what. Schedules, timing, sections… he didn't give her any plan details, either. Mostly it was low tones but sometimes she snapped to put him back in line. Dean took liberties with his attitude because he ran things here - but he didn't run Lisa.

Her and her men were on a normal schedule so no one noticed that Dean hadn't slept in an entire day now except Sam and me. He'd probably had worse, but with his state of mind I wasn't sure how well he would take this. Sam seemed just as nervous, although he managed to sleep through the calamity with his earplugs. I found myself too shaken up to relax into a cycle. After our argument, and this surprise with Lisa, I knew even if Dean wasn't obligated to fill her in that he wouldn't sleep, either. We'd both be lying here staring at the ceiling. Maybe talking about what just happened. Probably not, though. He didn't seem to understand it. And I certainly didn't.

At noon, all the men began to get up, shuffling around and getting into the groove of this abandoned town. A few of them knew Lisa was there, but not many. Mostly they just kept to themselves and to their work. When the sun began to dip low over the horizon I knew something had to give.

I got up restlessly. I changed and descended the steps, I hovered in the doorway to the living room, seeing it was empty. Strange. I hadn't heard them leave. My heart ached a little with something I identified as part fear and part jealousy; there were small sparks of worry for Dean's wellbeing, as well as embers for his former serious relationship with Ms. Braeden. They unsuccessfully tried to convince me something was up. When I walked through the halls, I saw the guest bedroom doors open, and I went to the emptiest one. Dean was there sitting in a chair, the bed entirely made up and clean. Lisa sat on the end of it. They were still just talking in low voices, surrounded by Ash's equipment.

"Dean," I said, and they both turned. "Can I talk to you?"

Dean nodded and got up, leaning his hands on his knees. "Settle in, all right?" He nodded tersely to Lisa before following me into the living room, rubbing his forehead. Weariness touched at his posture. "What is it, buddy?"

I motioned out the window. "The men have the camp covered as well as perimeter checks. There's nothing that needs to be done until tomorrow."

"And?" He sighed.

"And you need food. And sleep."

"Kas…"

"This is your chance to be awake tomorrow morning when we make your supply run," I explained. "I suggest at our next meal we offer this idea to the others. There's no longer a need for us to be nocturnal." Of course, I was right, so Dean went quiet and squinted at me while he considered my idea. He rubbed his chin.

I wondered what he and Lisa were discussing now. Dean had finished the debriefing about our move and traveling around an hour ago. Maybe they'd moved over to personal conversation. Nodding, Dean sucked in a deep breath. "Yeah, ok. Ok. Do me a favor and check around on everybody, just in case? Spread the word that Lisa popped in for a visit, so you'll be looking over them instead."

"All right." I'd occasionally been given a leadership task during our journey and his lapses in judgment. Overseeing the whole camp today would be a lot of work, though - it'd keep me busy while they sat here and… spoke. "I'll come get you when dinner is made." There. I had an excuse to pop in unexpectedly, although I didn't fully understand why I wanted one.

"Ok. Thanks, Kas." He smiled at me sheepishly. "Call for Sam if anybody gets snippy." I nodded silently, a bit disheartened. By the way he was acting he still wouldn't sleep for hours. I didn't like the idea of that for anybody but there was no way around it that I could see. We'd already had relations – that was all I had now to put him down myself. With the argument, and now this…

He leaned in, taking my face in one warm hand. "Hey, don't worry so much. We'll get this sorted out, Kas. All of it." I looked at him sadly. "All of it." He repeated firmly, and I just bobbed my head.

"I'll go check on the men." Taking his hand off my cheek I nodded to him and left. I couldn't avoid worrying. He was so volatile these days, and it scared me. That wasn't the Dean I knew. It certainly hadn't been my Dean, naked on his knees, saying he didn't deserve a happy ending. I didn't know what to think about what was going on with him but I felt so helpless.

On my way out the door I felt his eyes on my back. I pushed through the screen door and my boots hit the dirt. Time to get to work.

* * *

_Old Flames and Even Older Friends:_

_The Other_

Dean was rubbing his face when he walked back in to sit with Lisa, easing into the chair. More stress. All of this was just more stress. But he'd have to deal; this was his fault anyway. His head was buzzing from lack of sleep. Fighting it had to be top priority – at least until he could settle things. He looked up at Lisa with a squint. She was prettier than he remembered. "Sorry you have to stay in this shithole."

"I knew what I was getting into when I came." She stared at him. "So how are you dealing?"

"With?" Dean sat back, shrugging.

Lisa looked at him like he had six heads. "Jesus, Dean, he's Jimmy Novak's clone. I know what he did to you, and how awful he was. When I saw him for the first time I knew you'd flip out. How the hell are you coping with him being your wingman? And why the hell _is_ he your wingman?"

Sighing, Dean rubbed his face again, irritated. What did he tell Lisa? The truth? He glanced around the dinky room and took in the tattered ceiling and shredded curtains, the half assed braided rug and the brass bedframe. This was such bullshit. Why did he do this again, run a rebellion? It was so much work, so much dignity he had to hide in order to stay alpha male. "For the duration I've known the kid, Kas," he clarified, in case she didn't think he considered Kas human, "he's been nothing but helpful. The guy reeks of innocence. He fit right in with the soldiers. Jo loved him, Garth loved him, and everybody else did, too. I mean everybody."

Lisa's dark eyes were unreadable. "Even you?"

"Even me." His green eyes were solid walls. "But I gave him space to settle in. 'Course, he had no idea who he took after until right before we left the facility. We managed to break him in all month without that tidbit of information. And he took it pretty well."

"Of course he did. He doesn't know what Jimmy did, who he was."

"No. See," Dean leaned his elbows on his knees. "Sammy and I had an argument about Jimmy. That's how Kas found out – he heard every word. And you're well aware of how Sam likes to wiggle every problem to the surface and hit it with a goddamn whack-a-mole hammer." He spread his hands. "We let our opinions of Jimmy loose that night, and Kas walked right into it. I'd never seen anybody take anything so well. He's got a robot brain, over all his chemicals and those blue eyes. He gets it. He knows, Lisa."

She shook her head and slid back to lean against the wall. "That's unbelievable."

"Ask Sam. He was there, saw the whole thing."

"I still don't believe it."

"Tough luck."

"Dean."

She said his name just like Kas did. It made his eyes slide shut tightly and his jaw clench. All emotional, and abrupt - it cut right through the thick bullshit surrounding his confusing emotions. He lifted his eyelids just barely to see her worried look.

"Jimmy did something cruel to you," she continued quietly, "he changed you. Looking into his face every day of your life for a month must've done something to you."

Dean sat up slowly, looking away. "That's not the problem."

"Yes, it is!"

"You don't understand, Lisa."

"Then talk to me!"

Frustration welled up in his throat, quivering like lava about to spill over. He sat back and rubbed his hands along his thighs, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at her. He didn't want to do this. He hated the way she was looking at him - like he was pathetic, a kid who couldn't handle himself. He never wanted anyone to look at him like that again. An annoyed sigh escaped him. "Lisa," he began. "Kas may look like a clone, but he's nothing like Jimmy on the inside. He's all metal bones and puppies and kittens. And cheeseburgers." He crossed his arms. "I got to know him in the last week before we had to jet. Told me all the things he likes, all the food he doesn't like. Nothing like Jimmy's. Apparently when they built him his engineers took the liberty of letting his neurons develop on their own. He's a completely new person inside Novak's body."

"So he's nothing like him?"

"Not even a little bit. He turned his nose up at peanut brittle once and I almost had a heart attack."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"Does he act like him?"

"Nope. Moves differently, all shy and awkward; he doesn't talk much at all, mostly he just works; and the kicker? Not a soul dislikes him. The kids, the older grunts, everybody warmed up to him. I mean he's an Android, so it took a while, but there's not a person on our team that hasn't decided they'd die to protect him. Kas is family now."

"I can't believe it. I mean, I talked to him a little, it didn't look like Jimmy in his eyes, but I thought he'd develop right into a mini-Jimmy."

"Thank God he didn't."

"Tell me about it. I really didn't want to see you go through that again." She sat up a bit and leaned forward. "You and him… Are close?"

Dean shrugged nervously. "Very."

Her surprise was evident. "Very? Like 'you know his favorite color' close or 'you know how long his dick is' close?"

"The latter." Dean shot back in agitation, and immediately regretted it.

Her eyes were wide as dinner plates. "No way! Dean! He's-"

"I _KNOW_ what he is!" Dean snapped angrily. "You don't know the half of it! I gave him the cold shoulder for the first three weeks he was here – you know what he did? Followed me everywhere. Asked everybody questions about me. Who was I, why was I avoiding him?" He blew off steam and rubbed his face again, calming down. "Eventually we figured out that he had a lapse in his programming. A human lapse. He was in love with me, Lisa." He said quietly. "He needed somebody. He wanted me – he needed me, and I didn't know what to do."

She was still as a stone, absorbing his story with a cold disbelief.

"You know how I felt about him the second I saw those eyes. I'm hardwired." His eyes glanced over her. "This has been tough enough on the both of us. He's carrying a target on his back, and I'm carrying the lives of all my people on mine. I just don't want you to say that I'm taking advantage of him. I don't want to hear it. It was his choice, not mine. You know I didn't have a choice."

"Yes you did," she retorted. "You're just the hottest piece of ass here to everybody, including him. He doesn't know any better."

"He had a choice, and he chose me." Dean shook his head. "If I coulda changed it I would have. I'm no good. I know that. Jo would've been better for him – hell, maybe even Benny."

"Dean…" Lisa crossed her arms tightly over her chest and bit her lip. "Who knows?"

"Just… Sam." He licked his lips. "There's something about him that I can't put my finger on, and I… I don't know." He met her eyes. "I love the kid, Lisa. He takes care of me - and God knows I need it bad. I can't do much, but when I can do for him, I will. I swear."

Lisa's eyes were melting despite herself. Her skepticism cracked, letting hope leak through. She just sat and looked into the face of an old flame, and an even older friend. Then after a moment she nodded. "All right. Tell me everything."


	35. Chapter 34

_34_

_Rumors and Gossip and Ruin:_

_One_

The camp went into an uproar when I informed them Lisa Braeden was visiting. Even Sam refused to stop talking about it while we were getting the people together to finish their work so we could start dinner already. It was infuriating. I'd only ever gotten mad with Dean before, but my intolerance was growing very, very quickly. Picking up a heavy box filled with metal cookware easily, I carried it over to the kitchen staff as they set up the cafeteria outside, Sam tailing me. Since the day was cooling off with the sun declining behind thick clouds, we'd all decided to gather picnic tables and chairs and eat like a real congregation for the first time since leaving the facility. I was happy to help. But my every move was echoed by Sam's chuckle of disbelief as he shot comments back and forth with a girl named Amelia, who was one of the few women in our section.

"You should've seen him this morning. He was furious – I didn't think anybody else had the balls to stand up to Dean, but Lisa I'm impressed with." Sam smiled as he unloaded the box I'd just handed over. "I forgot how good she was at handling his shit."

I dusted off my hands by hitting them together. Besides anger, my head was pounding with an anxious need to go check on them. Lisa could 'handle his shit'? And I couldn't? My fingers curled and uncurled as I tried to focus. We'd used the kitchen in one of the houses by an open field where we could set up the tables and chairs. The workers who slept here were off elsewhere but everybody and their grandmother wanted to help make dinner instead of fixing or categorizing or on perimeter checks. I chased out a few kids who were supposed to be guarding the left half of town. "We don't need potato peelers, we need to be safe," I scolded them, and they grudgingly slunk off.

When I came back Amelia had the stove pulled out. She shrugged as she checked for a gas line behind it, making sure there were no leaks. "Somebody's gotta stand up to him that he can't beat into a pulp. She knew him a few years, right? Experience."

"Yeah. He was always like this, but with her around he's a lot more docile."

And Dean wasn't more docile with me around? I shrugged it off angrily. "Make sure everything is cleaned before we use it," I told the other men actually supposed to be working on the dinner plan. "We've used some of these, but mostly it's all been in storage through all our traveling. It might have collected something." They bobbed their heads obediently and began to carefully organize and wash everything that came out of the box. I was half enjoying this position because of the power it gave and half wishing I could've just stayed with Dean all day. I was really worried about him. And I was tired of everybody talking about him behind his back.

"How long were him and her together?" Chuck piped up, coming into the kitchen to root through the tool box Amelia had borrowed. "Two years? Three?"

"Three. Two before Jimmy and one after," Amelia replied.

Sam began to pitch in with the dishes. "Yep. That was about eight years ago they split up." He sighed and put down the soap too hard, making small bubbles fly everywhere. I watched them dance purple and blue light in the air as he continued. "But he respects her a lot. I mean he respects everybody, but he'll only take orders from a few people, and if he was in just the right mood he'd do anything she needed. And that's saying something."

"Anything, huh? I wonder how long she's been single." Chuck joked, before walking off with the socket wrench he'd needed.

That did it. I wanted to strangle something – someone, preferably. Slowly, I pushed my fists against the counter and leaned on them, my arms straight as poles. My head bent forward. Sharp anger boiled the chemicals in my body until I could've snapped a tree in half with two fingers.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly from behind me. "Dean seems to be over her," he said casually, as if to placate me and keep it under the radar from the others. "After all this time, he barely even wants to see her. Reminds him too much of how he used to be. But you can't change the past. Lisa is just a friend from his memories."

"Yeah," Amelia mumbled from behind the stove, patching a leak in the line. "I haven't seen him touch anybody since. Like he was finished with his love life completely – and I can't blame the guy. All this stress, all the responsibility he puts on himself… Without the right person to help him out it's just more pressure on his life he doesn't need."

I rubbed my face and tried to relax. I didn't know why I was so sensitive about this topic but I needed to get out of it before anything else happened. What Amelia said had really helped - I was still reeling, though, and I left, bringing back another box from outside the door, which I left to be unloaded. "I'm going to make sure the perimeter checks aren't gapped," I said to Sam, who was looking at me sheepishly. "I trust you to oversee dinner?"

"Of course. I think it should be done in about an hour and a half, two hours tops."

I gave him a blank look. "Tops? Top of what?"

He laughed lightly. "It just means maximum. Two hours max. Two hours tops. Same thing."

"Ah." I frowned before walking away. I glanced back once more to see Sam's kind smile waving goodbye. Such strange phrasing. I shook my head and continued towards the camp perimeter. Even after all this time with the humans they still found grounds to confuse me.

* * *

_Rumors and Gossip and Ruin:_

_The Other_

It felt good to have chaos again. Even if it was organized chaos. The drifting, sleepy, grumpy nocturnal driving had really broken them apart. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full conversation with anyone besides Sam and Kas – he wanted to change that ASAP. His men relied on him for example and for support. He couldn't be so wrapped up in his own problems all the time. Being able to contribute to one thing was helping bring everyone together again and he was glad for it. He wanted to see his people tonight. No more of this antisocial coping.

After coming out to Lisa, some of his anxiety had been lifted, and he'd left her to relax and clean up before dinner. He'd decided to go look for Kas. It was about time they did something outside the bedroom together. Dean found him talking to the boys about perimeter checks; he slid in and put a hand on both the kids' shoulder and Kas's, grinning. "We got a problem here?"

"N-No sir," Wendell stammered, a wiry kid in his late teens who still looked fifteen. "We just… we lost a few guys when we got assigned because they wanted to chill out, you know? They went off somewhere so they didn't have to work. We don't have enough guys to run the checks."

"Run off, did they?" Dean smiled at Kas, who was giving him a very conflicted look. "We'll have to fix that, now won't we? Come on, Captain Kas, let's go find those slackers and kick some sense into them." He stepped over to his copilot, flashing the kids a smile. "You two do what you can until we get back." They nodded vigorously, rushing off. Dean winked at Kas. "Must be wabbit season." He quipped.

"I believe you mispronounced that," Kas muttered as they walked off.

"It's, uh… a cartoon. Never mind. How did it go?" He slid his hands in his pockets. Maybe by asking about the camp he could get to the reason why he was receiving piercing looks.

Crossing his arms, the Android shrugged, watching the ground. "Besides the teenagers not wanting to do their assigned duties, which is in no way unusual, the camp is clean and organized. Ash is making sure to listen for any communication from the other sections. Amelia and Sam are managing dinner plans. If we can keep any more assassin attempts out, today seems to be fairly productive."

"Good. Good work, Kas. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you." Kas took a hesitant breath. "How is Lisa?"

Ahhh, so that was it. He was upset about Lisa. "She's ok. Demanding, and pushy, like always, but fine. I managed to explain to her why we had to pick up and run and she gets it."

Kas nodded thoughtfully. "What did she do about Ben?"

"She took him to her friend's to stay. He's some prominent lawyer guy she trusts."

"I'm glad he's safe."

"Yeah, me too."

Kas rubbed his arms slowly as they followed the road out of town and around to the buildings that were too unkempt to use. They were overgrown, their windows broken, their doors smashed in – the only ones close enough to the outskirts that people had the guts to loot as soon as it had been abandoned.

"Lisa and me are done, you know," Dean said gently.

"So everyone says."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "So folks were talking, huh? Is that what got to you?"

"Yes." Kas looked off to the side, squinting to see if he spotted any figured hovering around the unused buildings. "There were many jokes I was uncomfortable with. Apparently she had a lot of experience being your lover."

"That was too long ago to worry about. We're done for good. She and I will never be together again – there's a moment for temporary stuff like that, and our moment is long past." Dean grinned. "Besides, I'm done with women." Unsatisfied, Kas continued to be non-responsive, and Dean reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. When he finally looked at him, Dean smiled. "I'm done with everybody else except you, Kas."

The conflicted look seemed to blunt at the edges. "Thank you, Dean." His eyes drifted over the rebel leader's face and he sighed. "I don't know why the gossip upsets me this much. I apologize for my frigid reaction."

"Don't apologize," Dean smiled. "I've been a wack job for the past three weeks, I can't expect you to think I'd be fine around a girl I used to be close to. But I am."

"Are you all right, Dean?" Kas asked suddenly. "You seem much more upbeat than before, but you haven't slept, or eaten-"

Dean groaned and wrapped his arms around Kas', hugging him tightly. "Stop worrying about me," he sighed. "I don't know if I deserve how well you treat me, but I appreciate it more than you think. I didn't think I'd ever be close with somebody again like I'm close with you. I thought it'd just be me and Sammy til the day somebody shot me down. I was wrong. And I know it must suck seeing me out of sorts like this, and I'm sorry."

Kas didn't unwind himself but buried his face into Dean's shoulder. "I just want you to be all right," he muffled.

"I know. Jesus, Kas." Dean laughed softly, squeezing the Android in his arms. "I'm not in my right mind, and I'm not healthy, and I think my head is gonna blow up from the kind of stress I've gotta put up with to finish this mission." He pulled back and looked into Kas's watery blue eyes. "But I'll be all right as long as I have you, and only because I have you. No matter how far away I seem sometimes. I'll always come back, if it means I'll be able to be with you again."

"Is that true?"

"Yes. I swear it is. I love you, Kas. As long as I can, I want to be with you. Ok?"

"… Yes. Yes, ok."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Not let's go find some privacy." Dean turned and began to walk casually towards one of the abandoned buildings. The tall grass parted around him like the Red Sea, the glow from the evening lighting his back. He scoped out the house as he waltzed up to the front door, Kas staring after him.

The Android started following when Dean vanished inside one of the houses. "Privacy for what? Aren't we looking for the boys?" He whispered as they crept through the creaking home. Dean put out his hand to stop him from walking. They both went silent, listening for any sound of other life.

When they heard none, Dean turned and pushed Kas up against a wall, kissing him with fever. "With all this lack of sleep I'm feelin' a little loose," Dean explained between gasps. He worked him over with his hands until Kas was flushed and rigid, his hair a mess. "I don't do this enough." He grinned as he teased the other male into bucking against him.

"Dean, what if we're caught?! Dean!" Against Kas's shy protests, Dean got down on his knees seductively. Kas slid his fingers through Dean's hair and swallowed at the sound of his zipper unzipping.


	36. Chapter 35

_35_

_Some Unique Tribulations:_

_Another_

Lisa seemed to be in shock for most of the evening. She spoke frugally to some of the boys she'd known way back, before everyone had come into the rebellion and separated, and watched her ex cavorting with the reason they were all here in the first place. He and Kas were like a married couple. It was amazing none of the men had noticed, and yet it didn't surprise her; if you didn't want to know, there was a wide variety of truths you deprived yourself of.

The couple chatted, Kas refusing to eat as long as it saved rations, Dean coaxing him to try some with that charming smile of his. The rebel leader was radiant. Seeing Dean so happy was like a marine biologist raising normal gray dolphin all her life, and one day she comes in to see it's turned completely purple and grown a unicorn horn. It was hard not to stare. He sat close by Kas, joking for most of the meal before the two of them volunteered to get more kindling for the bonfire as if everything was platonic.

Lisa's water glass swirled in her hand while she tried to distract herself with a kid who had been pretty young when she'd first met him. Alex was his name. He was slung across a tattered lawn chair alongside hers, grinning as he spoke. The glow of the flames made his blonde hair look like it was on fire, too, the spark in his eyes youthful and strong. He spoke mostly of his work and the long trip they'd taken. Honestly, Lisa felt like she'd had enough of traveling herself. Tracking down these people had been a goddamn nightmare. She only wished the liquid in her glass was scotch right now.

Sipping her drink, she sighed. It was tough to accept. Dean, in love. Really in love. His eyes sang with it, and his smile, and was that a stain on his collar from earlier sexual relations? A pang of jealousy in her heart into an old wound made her wince. She shouldn't feel like this when he was finally settled in his emotional affairs, but it was hard. She'd tried for so long to be the best she could be so that he might eventually just fall in love with her. But there was just no competing with Jimmy then – everyone had known that, even her - and he was sold on Kas now. The danger of the latter was something debatable, but unavoidable. Love didn't care who was who. Or what, for that matter.

It shouldn't make her feel this bad. But it kinda did. She had a strong affection for his happiness, but a girl's jealousy liked to get away with her sometimes. Old flames always seemed to lick at one's heart. Even ages after they seem to have gone out. Instead of dwelling she turned back to her company.

"These folks are my family," Alex said quietly, as she tuned back in to what he was saying. "I've never felt more at home anyplace except surrounded by them. When my dad died, I was too old for a foster home. I never had anything like this."

Lisa stared at him, then glanced over the congregation circling a giant bonfire in an abandoned town. They were warmly opening their few possessions and company to her - some big wig from the city who used to bang their boss - and saved their asses legally. "You know, I don't think there is anything like this anywhere but here." She offered. Her eyes followed Dean as he watched Kas's lips move in question, his dark eyebrows furrowed while the rebel leader bobbed his head as if he were listening.

"Without the Winchesters on the front, nothing would ever be like this, ever." She drained her water glass. "Let's hope that never changes."

* * *

_Some Unique Tribulations:_

_The Other_

"I won't tell anyone."

Dean looked up in surprise to see Lisa in the doorway to his bedroom. He was shirtless, in monumental need for sleep as he poised on the end of their bed, and it was almost as if she were an apparition. But there she was. Even Kas looked up from where he was sifting through his shirts. Dean blinked a lot. " 'Scuse me? Sorry, I'm not sure I heard that."

Lisa looked weary. Hopefully the guest bed downstairs would be ok for her. She smiled a tight smile, soaking up his shirtless self, and glanced at Kas warmly. "I said I won't tell anyone. If you don't want them to know, I'm all right with keeping it to myself."

"Oh. Well, thanks, Lisa. That means a lot."

"Yes," Kas piped up, closing the drawer and turning. "That is incredibly generous to us emotionally. Thank you for your discretion."

Laughing gently, Lisa nodded. "Anything for a favor to an old friend and a new one." She winked at them. "Goodnight, boys." Then she turned and glided downstairs without another word, and they heard her bedroom door creak shut a few minutes later.

The couple exchanged mutual surprise and admiration. Dean kicked off his jeans, going to shut the door as Kas did the same. Worry over her reaction had kept them both pretty tense all evening. Even through the fraternizing at dinner they'd been exchanging worries about it. Dean fell back on the bed sheets with a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes. "That was random."

"Maybe she just needed time to think." Kas smiled to himself as he sat down alongside Dean. "I remember Sam saying something similar upon my own arrival."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe. Hell, I'm just glad everything seems to be going smoothly. Today, dinner, Lisa… After this morning, I didn't think we'd…" He trailed off as memories returned to the both of them. The emotional mood swing; Dean's flood of insecurities; Kas running off.

A silence fell that was suffocating and heavy. Kas looked down at his hands. He was rolling the edge of the sheet in his hand anxiously. Dean let his gaze drift off. The last thing he wanted was a repeat of last night's fight but he didn't know how to break the silence without reiterating the subject. He clamped his jaw shut. He'd do anything to keep this relationship afloat. Anything. "Kas," he tried. "Do you… do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No." The Android's voice quivered, and it hurt Dean's heart. "You already adequately explained your emotional dilemma."

Dean glanced over at him. "You were upset about the things I said, though."

"Of course I was upset." Kas refused to look at him. "We'd just had satisfyingly intimate intercourse and you morphed before my eyes into a man that I didn't know – a man I still am unaware of."

Swallowing, Dean sat up as slow as he could. The guilt he felt could not be bolstered into words. "I know." He managed. "But I have something to explain." Shifting to face Kas, he took his hands away from the sheet, lacing their fingers together. "Can I explain?"

The Android looked at their conjoined hands instead of at him. "I will listen." He answered quietly.

Dean nodded thankfully. "I was… alone. For eight years. You haven't been alive long enough to fathom it yet, so you might not understand, but that was a very long time to me. All my life I'd had someone by my side. First it was my parents, my family. Then it became some girls I cared nothing about, who I used until I got bored, or… one who stuck around with good intentions and tried to make me into something I wasn't." Dean's eyes lingered on the soft frown of Kas's brow, the shadows under his eyes contrasted sharply by the moonlight profiling his face. "When I ruined that relationship with Lisa, after Jimmy, I decided that I would be romantically alone forever. I told you earlier today that I thought it would just be my brother, and my people, and this rebellion. I made it my whole life for that reason."

"Yes. How does this pertain?"

"Because you coming into my life wasn't just a surprise. It nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack, like a billion times over," Dean pressed. Kas finally looked at him with confusion written all over his face. "I never thought I'd feel any kind of attraction for somebody again. I mean I figured I'd feel it, but not that it'd be that hard to deny. You here with me? I would have dreamed about this. In my wildest dreams we'd be sitting right here, where we are right now, and I'd wake up thinking there would be absolutely no reason this might be possible. An angel with a devil's face."

The Android stared at him. It took all his will power not to try to kiss his softly parting lips. Dean squeezed his hands. "You are the most valued thing in my life alongside the lives and safety of my family right now. My whole head is wrapped around keeping you safe and happy. I _thought_ you were safe with us before – and I was wrong. Out here, in the open, with no walls to protect you, and no way to know if someone is gunning for us… I'm going a little nuts." Kas gave him a look. "Ok, a lot nuts," he conceded. "I opened a lot of old wounds in order to be this way with you, and you're healing them up just by being yourself, and… without you I don't think I'd recover."

"Dean." Kas said softly.

"I mean it. I'm screwed up. I'm so sorry," he whispered, "I'm sorry for everything I've done, and everything I'm ever going to do that won't be right or fair to you. I've got a lot of shit I need to work out in my head. But until then, I need you. I need you to be here with me while I work it out." Dean's pleading look was heart breaking. "I love you, Kas. You do so much for me and I don't want to ask this of you. But I can't let you go knowing you're in danger without me there, and I can't change what's going on with me. All I can do is what I do now." He bit his lip. "Think you can stick around with me being such a huge asshole until I've got my shit together?"

"It's difficult to see you this way. But I do understand your situation." Kas's grip was iron tight and Dean drowned in the ocean of his eyes. "My affection for you precedes the fear I have for myself."

"I'm gonna do whatever it takes for us to come out on top of this mess – anything and everything, I can promise you that."

"Then I will be with you," the Android nodded, "until we reach a suitable conclusion. Or at least until we are able to function without outside forces disrupting our relations."

Dean laughed suddenly, and grinned at him. "That's never gonna happen, Kas."

"Then… as long as those outside forces aren't lingering death and destruction of your entire lifestyle, we may have a chance at being content."

"No promises there either cowboy; I walk a dangerous line," he teased.

Kas glowered at him thoughtfully. "Then I am with you till the end of the line."

A smile breaking the tension in his face allowed Dean a much needed respite from his growing foreboding that Kas might not say just that, and he pulled him in and kissed him eagerly. "Thank you," he replied, "That's more than I deserve, and I swear I'll make it up to you every time I go bonkers. If I don't you have permission to beat me into a pulp."

"Your face is far too valuable to injure or risk mangling," Kas protested.

"Then find some other way."

"Such as?"

"Starve me for sex or something."

"I'll consider it thoroughly." Pushing him back onto the bed, Kas put a fair amount of his weight into making Dean lay down. "Now for the sake of all those you hold dear," he murmured, "would you please sleep?"

Dean just chuckled and wrapped Kas up in his arms, sighing deeply. "Oh, you don't gotta tell me twice." His body relaxed against the soft sheets. Around them swirled the air of a house echoing with silence; a silence broken by their presence, and warmly so at that. With his lover settled against his chest, Dean was asleep within minutes, soothed by the clattering of dishes a few buildings away and the idle chatter of the boys on perimeter duty. The walls around him slept just as soundly.

Kas followed the rate of Dean's heart and the speed of his breathing as he descended further and further into his subconscious, grasping for the rest he so desperately deserved. It soothed Kas mentally just feeling the relaxation of Dean's weary and unconscious mind. He shut his eyes against the rise and fall of the man's chest, his tension much at ease, and sank into a soothing cycle.

* * *

_Some Unique Tribulations:_

_Another_

Being able to finally get some sleep, at the right time, was a gift to mankind. Or, at least a gift to the soldiers.

Gentle sunshine sloped in through the window as Sam pulled on his socks and shoes, glancing out over the grounds. He could see half the camp from here. There was a tree with overhanging leaves shading him from the heat of the afternoon, and this bed was ten times better than a sleeping bag. He grunted as he got to his feet. A real, awake morning. He was still fathoming it when he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Leaning over the sink, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Dean and Kas's door was still shut. He looked at his watch. Dean was usually up seriously early, and they were leaving soon for the supply run.

The water was still running as he took two steps and crossed the threshold to their door, knocking on it raptly. "You guys better get up soon, the men will be anxious." He continued brushing. No answer.

Frowning, he turned the knob, and it fell off in his hand. He dropped it as the door squeaked open. The bed was empty in the way a trashcan was empty after a pile of dogs smelled a fresh roast chicken hidden at the bottom; everything was ransacked and overturned.

And there was no Dean - and no Kas.


	37. Chapter 36

_36_

_Unknown Occurrences:_

_The Other_

In all the longevity of existence, there is rarely, at any point, one singular being who ever stumbles upon the ability to not only observe every decision they've made as a rational human being, but to see it like a map. A road map. One of their own life - portrayed in a way which explains, to the subconscious mind, the purpose of their lives based on how it began and how it ends.

When this does occur, it can be classified as a mental epiphany. Because there are so few of them reported and catalogued, there is very little data to explain how it happens, or why, or what is involved; such as the stressors at the current point in time, or maybe even the situation at hand putting pressure on the subconscious to decide or act.

It seems to be only slightly similar in every case. The connecting factor in every reported mental epiphany of this gravity seems to be the position of power of the one experiencing it. A position that undeniably contains extreme stress on every level of human capacity: mental, physical, emotional, social…

So something is putting pressure on every part of somebody, and squishes them until their thoughts are so compact that everything merges into one silver lining of clarity within the mind.

This was happening to Dean Winchester.

The fully formed, solid, stressed body of the male rebel leader seemed to be afloat in limbo. The bow of his legs; the press of his bare feet against a nonexistent floor; he looked down at his hands with muted shock. They rippled with words. Feelings. Memories. Everything was so bright. Squinting did not make them seem any less abnormal.

Had he never done this before, look at his palms? He had to have done this. What kinda guy goes all his life without looking at his palms? Right now, they seemed to be speaking to him in the way a book speaks to a closed off adolescent. The more clearly he observed his calloused fingertips and the soft lines dividing the sections of his hands, the more he saw of himself, and the more the information was wiped away the normal bullshit from day to day life and replaced it with this mental clarity.

Clarity. Him. He was a good judge of people, but a horrible judge of their inner workings. The why's and how's never clicked in his head. Motive was all that ever interested him. But this clarity, this knowledge of himself, of all people, was astonishing. He could remember his first kiss like it was happening in current time; pink lace underwear peeking above the jeans of the girl he first had been with; the texture of Jimmy's tie in his hand when he'd first been allowed to grace himself with those spitfire lips. Pushing away these memories was irrelevant at this level of awareness. Even though they hurt him, they were so vivid, so clear… He shifted to search for some about Kas, and there they were.

The first time they'd made love. The first kiss. The first shower. It was all here. Looking up, he noticed there was a mirror. A big one that encompassed him entirely. There was nothing else to see, around or below or behind him, so he focused on himself; the part of him he never got to look at. Him as a whole was not something he got regular checks on – there were no full length mirrors in the men's bathrooms back at the facility, and he rarely cared enough to strip naked in front of any others set around the halls; and by rarely he meant never.

But it wasn't his naked self that he saw. Of course, he wouldn't know if he always looked like a celestial road map, but it would be hard for someone to miss. Kas definitely would've taken advantage of that in bed and Lisa would've noticed way before that.

He looked like a big map of his life. The tip of his left hand was where his birth was recorded. The baseball games and sleep overs crept along his phalanges, up his forearm. If his beginning was on that arm, then…? He looked to his other hand for proof that this wasn't what he thought it was, and his eyes widened. The spark in the story was undeniable – he felt akin to it, as if he were one with the stream itself. His heart was melted into it. Years and years of growth and choices had landed him right here, of all places, and this was where it ended. Forever.

Then his whole world opened up a black hole beneath him and sucked him up.

* * *

Air. Air. Shuddering lungs drew in sterile air between his parched lips. Air, water. Weight of the room pressing down on him gave a good sense of urgency to wake up and not lay there dazed. Everything swam into view. Dean's puffy red eyes slid open and winced at the dazzling light. It was so bright, so piercing. His tongue felt huge in his mouth like a wad of cotton balls. He rolled his head to the side dizzily; the metal cot had not been kind to his body while he was out, and he was paying for it. There were kinks in his shoulders and his back and his head was aching madly. He shifted in his pain to relieve the tingling sleep in his limbs and they protested with angry pins and needles.

There was nothing that he could see beyond the endlessly bright lights, though he tried, and he knew the drugs had not yet worn off. Maybe there was a steady dosage. He glanced down at his wrist and saw an IV sticking out of it.

Someone had strapped him down with metal cuffs. He was pretty sure he had at least three cracked ribs, too. They were screaming with his every motion and he didn't have the energy to cry out. His arm was broken; it lay in a hard plaster cast by his side, his fingers freezing against the cold bed. Every inch of him was so weighted and bruised. It was a miracle he wasn't in agonizing pain. But that's what the drugs were for, to keep him quiet, and keep him under.

There was something patchy on his chest that he could barely see. The more he lifted his head, the dizzier he got, so slowly he worked his chin up to his collar bone in order to catch a glimpse. A doubled white bandage was taped to his peck beneath a white gown. He swallowed thickly.

He'd been shot. Most likely by a silencer. He didn't remember any of it, Jesus why didn't he remember? The drugs. The drugs were still making him fuzzy – more than that, they were making him docile.

He amassed his energy into one furious flail against his bindings and pushed his whole body as far as it would go against the cuffs and the bindings and gritted his teeth as hard as he could. The pain this caused made a scream tear its way out of his throat, echoing off the empty walls around him. He screamed and screamed. Kas was in danger. His people were in danger. And he was lying here strapped to a goddamn table! He saw red, roaring against the invincible bondage. How, why?! Every other time Kas had been able to save them, himself included – what the hell had gotten to them?

A strangled gap cut him off when he ran out of air, and his screaming receded into ragged panting. "Kas," he rasped hopelessly. "Kas, Kas…"

* * *

The time that passed was unknowable. There were no clocks, no windows, and no visitors. Days might've gone by, or maybe just hours. But when Dean could finally make out shapes in the brightness of the room he spotted only one thing besides his cot – and that was a camera. Mounted in the corner, a shiny black lens was fixated on his face, hovering like a vulture; just waiting for him to perish so it could feed off his weakness. After his little fit of energy was wasted he just felt tired. So, he slipped in and out of sleep, drifting endlessly between the white waking world and the darkness behind his eyelids.

Over all that time, the medication dosage remained the same; it kept him delirious and sleepy at all times. Dean estimated that while he was asleep someone would come in and change out the IV drip, and the tubes attached to him in other places as well were changed and cleaned. So that meant someone was watching him. Taking care of him – or at least, keeping him alive for the moment.

But how many had the company sent? Or was it just one? How had they taken him? Why? Well, he knew why. Now their mission would never come to fruition. It was destroyed. Everything was destroyed, just because he couldn't have trusted anyone with his convoluted ideas.

For God knows how long he lay on that table aching and drowsy and kicked himself over and over, beating the shit out of himself mentally for letting his guard slip long enough for any of this to happen. Something could've happened to Kas. He could be dead, or worse, recycled.

That made Dean think. What would they do, exactly? It was pretty clear at least who they were, the ones who had him, if not where he was. After that last incident maybe they wouldn't have him at their home base. But if it was the same people, that was a place to start. What would Icarus Incorporated want with a captured rebel leader?

Dean stared at the camera. If they so much as scratched his brother, or Kas, he would… He clenched his jaw and flexed the fingers on his good hand. He would get off this cot and rip every single one of them to pieces – that's what he'd damn well do. Day dreaming about as many ways to escape as he could muster, he drifted off to sleep again, and again; he kept jerking awake as if he could stay up until he was rescued. He could just picture Sam smashing in the door, Kas flying to his side and kissing him awake. The IV gone. A gun in his hands.

His fingers itched for a trigger, his adrenaline spiking as he worked his mind through what kind of hallways they'd have to run through, how many men they'd have to take down; elbow, fist; look out Sammy; Kas, on your left. The halls would lead to the lobby and the front doors would open and freedom would be just beyond his fingertips…

But every time he opened his eyes, nothing had changed. The room was bright and still and his IV dripped slowly, so slowly, the drugs sliding down the tube into his arm, into his battered body.

And his eyes would slide shut again.

* * *

Enough time passed that Dean found the wrappings around his ribs gone, and his cast taken off. A month or two; six weeks, maybe.

His bones had healed, although malnourished, much better strapped down and immobile. Which was a crock of shit. He'd be stiff as hell the minute he could walk again. All his limbs would hate his guts after this. His gunshot wound was healing up slowly, the pain medication making it much easier to bear watching the dead flesh molt beneath the bandages. It wasn't cleaned as well as the other wounds. Maybe it was a warning. 'Don't try anything stupid,' it said. 'Or we'll give you an infection that'll take more than a puke basket and chicken soup to get over.'

Of course, he was planning something stupid anyway. Stuck here long enough and you'd hug a flying nuke in your skivvies in order to feel something except being horizontal for two months plus.

* * *

Dean felt weaker than he ever had in his life – even worse than he'd felt that time he fell asleep behind the wheel and been hospitalized for months with third degree burns all over his body. He was kidding himself if he could so much as lift his leg when - or if - anyone ever unstrapped him. No. When they unstrapped him. Dean refused to give up, not even a little. He knew his people were coming for him. They'd find him and save Kas and they'd blow this place to smithereens for good. That'd teach the world to fuck with them.

He thought about the future. This place, this situation, was so screwed up that he couldn't imagine putting anyone else through it. What if it happened to one of his people? His girls, his teenagers? He felt sick to his stomach. No, this was a cause they'd all sold their souls to for a reason. They were strong. But he didn't ever want them to have to do this. He could do anything – Dean was war hardened, blasted apart and pulled back together again at every turn. This wasn't exactly a walk in the park but it wasn't nearly as bad as some of the things he'd seen or done.

Was it worth it, though? The risk? Putting them all in this kind of danger just to prove something to the history books?

Thoughts of a future with Kas kept him grounded. He pictured a house in Montana, or England, or Wales; somewhere isolated. Cobblestone and brick walls everywhere. A pond. Lots and lots of grass and fields. Some place had to exist where quiet was a staple and a warm bed with a warm body in it was a necessity.


	38. Chapter 37

_37_

_Amateur's Snared, Rights Secured:_

_One_

The way I usually woke up in the morning usually involved something soft; sometimes it was the soft touch of falling evening as it had been so often nowadays that met me when I opened my eyes. Or the soft sigh of my lover alongside me, denying the waking world with his lips pursed. What had been expected this morning was the touch of sunlight on my eyelids, or maybe the light glow of the room that would wake me. The brush of Dean's body beside me would bring me out of my cycle. I would remember we had a camp that needed running, and take liberties to get up before the rebel leader, in order to wake him the way he liked. One day closer to the plan. One more stretch of slumber together and maybe another round tonight in bed after the grocery run would guarantee no more breakdowns or misconceptions between us. Or so I wished. Hopes and wishes were so delicate. Sometimes I wished they weren't, then I realized that was as fallible as everything else.

Then again, humans were very fragile, and they endured. My ears pricked. Soft murmuring woke me; a first I wondered if Dean had gotten up before me and was discussing the day with Sam. This was relaxing, since I was no longer responsible for waking him, and chose to try and snatch another moment of heavy bliss. It was these rare moments where I relished being part human. The oiled joints of my body groaned like they always did after a long night of being stationary, and my mind lolled a bit as it tried to gather snips of the conversation. Passing between daydreams of Dean and the word or two I managed to hear, my sensors tingled strangely.

I was not… horizontal. Strange. The bed had been turned, or lifted, had it? Not to my knowledge. I shifted to search for the blanket and pull it over my chilled self, but my arm didn't move. I tried to slide my leg until it buried beneath the missing covers, but my leg didn't budge either. Annoyed, I drew myself out of sleep, taking a sharp breath to wake my mind. The world was dizzying. I didn't like how I felt. "Dean," I called softly. The echo of my voice bounced back at my face. I blinked and blinked until I could see fuzzy shapes that shimmered like a mirage before my eyes. Their dark figures shifted and turned towards me from behind a layer of shielding. My head hurt, and my blood was tingling in my veins. I winced. "What…?" My voice ached to use, and my chest was compressed somehow. What was this feeling? "Dean…?"

"He's up." A jittery male's voice. That was not Dean, nor was it Sam, but it was muffled behind the shield coating me.

A muffled sigh. "Thanks for the newsflash," a female voice droned. "I'm sure we would've needed your help to figure out our shoes are all tied, too."

"Quiet!" Snapped an older female. "This is the most important mission you hair-brained morons have ever managed to get! Show some dignity!"

"Uh, this is the most important mission _we've_ ever done right with our sorry lives," corrected the younger female, and a clang and a yelp indicated she was wearing a helmet and had been struck.

I was regaining consciousness slowly. I was not in our house, in our bed. I was bumping along in the back of some vehicle, surrounded by irritable humans, sealed into some sort of half-clear box. My system diagnosis was lagging. It was hard to discern if I was fatally injured. I flared my nostrils as I tried to move again, straining my arms and legs. They were strapped down. Bending my head, I saw I was encased in metal cones covering each limb, leaving only my bare torso free. A plethora of cuts and bruises decorated me like medals on a master sergeant. I was hurt, all right. But my diagnostic found no severe injuries.

"You're useless, the both of you. We lost three people getting him here and unfortunately for me that was all of the best ones I had. So you shut up and you keep your eyes open and I won't make the casualty list any longer."

The older woman seemed to be in charge. Squinting just right, I could make them out. One larger female I assumed was the older one, a slender one opposite her with wavy brown hair. Two smaller figures opposite each other. And one more male, silent against far right bench in the vehicle. They were all dressed in camouflage from head to toe and held very large guns in their laps. Two unused helmets littered the floor between them.

"Where am I?" I piped up, my head aching with the volume of my own voice.

"Did the guy swallow a load of gravel? His voice is hella deep." The younger girl offered snidely.

"I'll let you swallow my load anytime," the young man sneered. _BANG._ Two hits: her hitting him, him hitting the floor.

"CORPERAL." An exhausted new voice scolded. Female. Dean's age. Foreign accent. "We haven't time to staunch his nosebleeds. Please, for all of us, ignore his misogyny." She must be the slender one. Rough hands lifted the younger male back into his seat.

"You don't worry about where you are, robot," the older woman scolded. She had a gruffness like Dean did. "You'll be back where you belong shortly."

I furrowed my brow. "The facility is very far away," I protested. "We will not reach it for some time. A month, maybe."

"Wow. He's wasted." The pained teenage boy's voice was the most irritating to my ears. "What did you give him?"

"They didn't say what it was," the foreign woman replied. "Only that it was specially tailored for him, in case he got out of control."

"Damn." The teenage girl mumbled. "So he's drunk _and_ stoned?"

"He won't give us any trouble as long as you don't give him a reason to." The others turned to the male in the back who had barely spoken. He was in his twenties, I estimated, and very lanky by the looks of his blur. "So shut up is what he damn well is."

After that, silence fell. I could make out no more about them through the Plexiglas. Whatever drug they had administered was very hard to resist; I slipped back to sleep again, against my will, and ended up wondering to myself where Dean might be.

* * *

The location of Dean was my last thought when I fell asleep, and my first thought again when I woke the second time – and the alarm that accompanied it was accelerated beyond my normal capacity, and even my super conductive capacity. It was like touching a live wire. He could have been killed while I was away – I'd been taken, right? They could've killed him in our bed in our house and left his body to rot! Wait. He could still be alive somewhere, in danger. He needed me. I sat straight up and gasped, sucking air into my systems, my eyes wild with burning blue electricity_. _

_"Dean!"_ I cried, startling everyone in the vehicle. "Where is Dean?!" I pressed my forehead drunkenly to the Plexiglas and shouted at the warped figures staring back at me, despite the ringing pain it caused my ears. _"Where is he?!"_

"He's a goddamn waking corpse!" The teenage male quaked, pushing at his helmet and clutching at his gun.

No one else spoke. They exchanged glances and grasped for some sort of reply, but it was all too slow, too utterly predictable. I groaned loudly and thrashed against my restraints, shaking my head. I returned my forehead to the glass and my breath clouded the clear shield beneath my snarl. "Did you hurt Dean? Is he dead? _Is he dead?"_

_"_No one speak." The leader ordered quietly, but her voice shook as well. "Tell him nothing."

I yelled hoarsely, and everyone jumped a foot in the air. _"TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" _I screamed. _"HE NEEDS ME!"_ Thrashing again; the metal groaned beneath my incredible strength. There was no stopping the rage – it boiled through me, scorching my very soul, and I curled my cold hands into fists and strained every muscle in my body, letting out another deafening cry as it ate away at me. The more I screamed, the more my throat hurt, and my chest shuddered in agony. But the pain just knocked away the drugs. My clarity grew. I drowned in the sound of my own mortification until I felt crazed. Kicking my legs and yanking my arms seemed to be doing something - the metal bent against my willpower alone, it seemed, releasing my limbs at an achingly slow pace. I pictured Dean in danger, or dead, and willed it harder, sucking in a deep breath and releasing a blood-curdling scream. The whole vehicle shook with it.

"HE'S GETTING OUT!" The foreign woman cried.

"EVERYONE AT THE READY!" The leader of the team shouted. Guns were loaded. Orders were rattled off into the radio on the leader's shoulder, something about the drugs having an adverse reaction. I didn't care. I was seeing red. If they had hurt Dean, every one of them would be dead in moments. He needed me. He needed me right now.

My metal casings flew through the Plexiglas, shattering it entirely, and sent shards of it whistling at the humans. The sound crashed into my ears like a train wreck. The shards killed a few of them; the leader and the teenage girl dropped like sacks of potatoes at my feet, their lifeless eyes open wide with terror. But the others got to their feet, cut and chipped in every way, and rushed me as if it were possible to stop my enhanced rampage. To me, they were sliding, shuffling… crawling. Like targets in the shooting range. I stepped out into the back of the vehicle, bending my head to avoid the now-jagged edges of my broken cage.

The young boy looked as enraged as I was. Without my capabilities, of course, he was still useless, but his grief was touching. He was not much younger than Adam. My eyes took in his heat signature, height, weight, hair and eye color before I lifted my arm and grabbed the ends of his gun.

My mind clicked. _I yelled angrily, whirling on Dean._ _"Just because you kill people on a regular basis does not mean I can! I'm not a killing machine! I can't!"_

_"Yes you can."_ _I had felt the cold fury wafting off him._ _"And you will."_

With that, I shoved the boy mercilessly out of the gaping hole in the back of the pitching truck my metal casings had caused before he could even pull the trigger. He spun through the air in slow motion. I took a moment to watch him hit the asphalt and go through a metamorphosis from human into a liquefied splatter. It was almost poetic, the moment of impact. I no longer felt remorse for these people who had caused us so much pain.

My anger was satisfied only temporarily, and I consoled my better half. Then I turned to the comely female. I lashed out and grabbed her neck, my fingers crushingly tight against her throat before she even lifted her weapon, which clattered to the floor at my feet alongside the body of her former squad leader. Her blue eyes bulged out of her pretty face.

The male at the back was fiddling with a grenade when he cried out and tumbled from the back of the van, his hands and face riddled with glass, blood pouring from every cut like Niagara Falls. On his way out he released the pin and the explosion rocked the van violently back and forth, the rushing road beyond him slowing its pace.

The blast sizzled the camouflage of the woman in my grasp, and my jeans as well, and her choking and flailing arms became my second concern. I smoothed the flames out with my free hand and hoisted the woman higher and higher in my grasp until her forehead bumped the ceiling. The van had come to a screeching halt, the two of us flung this way and that until the world around us was finally still. I stepped out of the van, dragging the girl's head along the ceiling. When I'd found my footing again and her choking became audible, I scowled.

"Now," I rumbled. "Where is he?"


	39. Chapter 38

_38_

_Subconsciously Unconscious: _

_The Other_

One day, Dean woke to find an anomaly in his never-changing environment. Before he tried to figure out why it was there, he tried to figure out what it was. It had been so long since anything changed that he wasn't completely sure he could comprehend it. He racked his brain for hours trying to place this exact feeling, this exact change. Was the air different? The light? No, not that. After a whole long train of thought, finally he reached a conclusion. He could see more of the room and himself and his neck was singing like an angelic choir. There was a goddamn pillow beneath his head. A pillow the size of a book, but it was something.

At this point he wouldn't be surprised if there was a flat spot at the back of his skull from being forced against this cot for three months. Whoever was taking care of him hadn't given a rat's ass how achy and horrible he felt for all that time, why would they care now? He squinted. His brow was blocking some of the blinding light – just enough, in fact, that he could see most of the room without a problem. It was unchanged. White walls, white tile floor, white ceiling… White door?

His heart skipped a beat. A door! There was a tall rectangle discernable from the surrounding walls, it had to be a door. Thank God. This room wasn't completely sealed.

Wait, was that a black dot on the door? He narrowed his eyes. No, that wasn't a black dot. That was a symbol. He couldn't quite make it out, and his head was a little fuzzier than usual, and the lull of the pillow was so strong. He decided to worry about it later. Sinking back into sleep was much easier nowadays with the loop of Kas in his dream home on repeat full time in his head.

* * *

No neighbors for miles, maybe, besides maybe Sammy and his wife. Amelia would be a good match for him. He saw his slanting roof and the rose bushes in the backyard that grew wild - he walked through a thick front door and locked it against the world, going to look for Kas. Finding him just settling in. Kas in his bed, on his couch, in his kitchen… Clumsily folding shirts on the kitchen table… Kas mixing a martini wrong… Falling asleep reading some paperback novel he'd found at the dollar store, rain pattering the windows, a blanket covering his lap, the warm glow from the overhead light casting tired shadows on his cheeks…

Dean watched himself like it was some movie on hallmark. Dripping with rain, he'd shed his raincoat and kick off his boots, and get as close as he could to the back of the couch, and lean down real slow. He'd slide his arms around Kas's shoulders and kiss his cheek, and get a protesting grunt in reply.

This replayed over and over in his head. Each time, he added more detail; the pictures on the wall from the beach, just the two of them in the cool weather, the crashing waves and Kas's giddy grin; the whiskey bottles littering the kitchen on hard days after work… the texture of Kas's sweater as he wrapped him up tightly, clinging to him like he was an anchor in a hurricane, like he was the last thing in the world keeping him there - and he never, ever wanted to be anywhere else.

* * *

The next time Dean rolled into consciousness, he felt better. He could blink and breathe without feeling light headed. He was a bit less… fuzzy. Every thought came to him neatly and not through such a thick fog that he had to check them twice to make sure each one was logical. That was a relief. He'd gotten pretty sick of feeling like an idiot. What, though? Did they back off the drugs or something? Had to be. His neck was screaming in pain, even on a pillow. His eyes adjusted much easier to the bright light as he waited for them to dilate. The room came into sharper focus than it ever had and he could even think straight. He didn't look at the camera. There was no way he'd reveal his moment of clarity to his caretakers – not even if it was them reviving him. He tried to seem drugged still by lolling his eyes and relaxing, despite the lack of drugs meaning more pain from his secured limbs, and then he remembered the symbol on the door.

His eyes focused carefully across the room to the door. It was probably just a label or door directions or some shit, and this was useless. But he had to see this time.

Without the drugs at full strength he felt how badly he really needed to pee standing up; this whole horizontal thing wasn't going to turn out well if he ever got up again. When he got up again. He wouldn't be able to walk, or move much at all. His muscles were completely useless. Whoever came to get him would have to carry him out, and that thought alone was terrifying to his pride.

He had almost made out the symbol clearly when he realized what it was. The shape was undeniable – a three, it was a goddamn three! Goes to show how strong those drugs were. Whew. Three, huh? Dean studied it a moment. It was written in ball point pen, the cheap kind that facilities were full of. Had Sam gotten back in, after that whole fiasco? Maybe he was the one lying low until they had a window of opportunity. If not, there was somebody on the inside looking out for him. In his opinion they were doing a shit job, but beggars couldn't be choosey. Three. Three. Did that mean three people? Three months? Three hours, or days maybe?

Dean was struck with a sudden thought. Jesus, how long had it been since it was written there? He saw it last time he woke up, but how long had it been? A day? A few hours? He had no idea. Time was fluid in here. Everything ran into itself. He could've been here a few months, or he could've just dreamed half of it and only been here a few days. Gulping, he relaxed his head and shut his eyes. No. No way. Weeks at least. He squinted over at the other walls as subtly as possible to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He hadn't. There was no way his bones recovering had been less than six weeks but besides that, he had no idea. It wasn't days. And this was not a dream.

He studied the floating dust particles in the blinding light. Three. It had to be three days. How would he know if three days had passed? If he guessed right, it was about every three times he fell asleep, at least one day came and went. If he guessed right, that is. He'd just have to count.

* * *

Pain made it much easier to stay awake now. Mostly the gap in the meds, he guessed. That made it much harder to discern how much time had passed since the three was written – his captor had, probably in order to complete his medication consumption and meet the quota, as to not raise suspicion, given him the entire dose of meds at once. The increased fuzziness he'd felt before had been the forefront of all of it in his system. And then it had knocked him out. But once it was gone, he'd worked it through his system and it was now gone. Completely. So now not only had he lost time again but there was nothing between him and the overwhelming discomfort of being strapped onto a metal table. Sometimes, while lying there, Dean had wondered exactly how much trouble and pain he deserved for the things he had done in his life. He ran through all the missions he'd run, and people he'd saved and taught to defend themselves, and balanced it against the assassinations and gun downs and necks he'd broken - and found it was very uneven.

Maybe this was the rest of his penance for being a drunk, too. Didn't God have a problem with drunks? Or maybe it was just gluttonous bisexual drunks who made everyone else to them miserable. Maybe. Either way, it didn't matter now. He was paying for it.

He wiggled a bit on the cot. What could he do to prepare himself for getting off this table? He didn't want to turn to jelly the moment he was vertical again. Shifting a bit, he focused on his arms and legs, and tensed them. The smaller the increments, the more he could move, and he decided to just practice tensing and relaxing instead of straining against the clamps like he had been doing before. Maybe it'd help later on. Counting every breath he took, he tried to measure time, going through as many reps with this tensing as he could. He kept focused by turning his head and causing his neck shit tons of pain, which in turn yanked him out of his thoughts. He winced. This wasn't the best predicament, but it was better than most. He'd been chained high up on a wall for a week once; that had hurt like shit. His shoulders were still scarred from that brick wall.

What would they be doing to Kas, he wondered. While he lay here with minimal comfort and supervision, what were they doing to him? Dissecting him? Taking him apart piece by piece and burning him, so no one ever made one again? No, he was too valuable – they wanted him alive for a reason. But what use was he now? They'd made him human. They'd made him soft.

They must have some idea on how to make him useful again, or else all this was for nothing.


	40. Chapter 39

_39_

_Metamorphosis: _

_One _

"What did you do with Dean?" I questioned simply.

Peering into the face of the dying female soldier in my hand, I squinted as I lowered her to the ground and released her. She staggered back and fell, lying in the dirt limply and coughing up her lungs. I couldn't stand the gentle blue of her eyes so wild with fear. I didn't want the loss of her life on my hands, like so many of her comrades. Her beauty had struck me and won her life for now. But the sputtering made me sigh in impatience.

My jeans were singed; the knees were burned open, and my flesh held scorch marks that were healing, as were the injuries on the rest of me. Around us, there was nothing but road and towering trees for miles and miles in both directions. In order to find my way, I'd need to activate my GPS. I kicked it on in my head as I nudged the girl's leg with the toe of my boot. Without the illusion of fear, I would get no results. "Answer me, or you will end up like your friends."

She hacked a bit into her bleeding hands, gulping down air like it was going out of style. "In," she sucked more air in and managed to sit up, staring up at me like I was a deity. "He's… in the other… van…" My heart dropped. Forgetting the girl, I stepped into the road, craning my neck to see another van vanish over the horizon. It had been driving right in front of us! I had just missed them!

"Dean," I whispered, and it made my heart hurt. All of me hurt. But the more I thought about it, the more it hurt, so I shook my head to clear it out.

I turned back as the door of the van clicked open. _Danger!_ I spotted the flash of their gun just in time, and heard grubby fingers squeezing the trigger and dropped to my knees. My arms snapped up straight and from my wrists sprung twin pistols. I snatched them out of mid-air and fired. Dean's voice whispered in my ear. The kickback rippled through me as the man's head whip-lashed back against the door window, shattering it, and he dropped like a rock, gun spinning away from him.

But he had fired once.

I panted to calm myself and lifted a hand to touch my ear. It was nicked, and bled openly with the oil used instead of blood in my body. It was all over my gun when I pulled my hand back to look. Just a scratch, I told myself. The skin resign of my wrists was completely destroyed. In amazement, I stared at it, studying the emptiness from my metal bones to my elbow. It was so fascinating how inhuman I felt right now. I'd never felt this cold before, this open to lusting for blood. I glanced back at the girl with the intention to not leave any loose ends.

"Bella!" Came a cry, and my eyes flickered to the second gunman coming around the side of the van. Before I had time to lift my guns he was already firing. I shuddered with the immense pressure of being shot with several SMG bullets and was pushed back. Falling onto my back, my guns jumped out of my hands as his gun shells leaped through the smoke. My head cracked back against the asphalt. Pain shot through me from several points in my body that all sung like a choir as I curled up on my side and cradled my rattled cranium.

Suddenly, everything was still. I let out a shuddering cry of pain as I drew my head up enough to search for my assailant, but he was gone. As if he'd never existed. This was impossible, but I was so damaged and confused that it seemed logical. I was even glad for it. The world rippled with every wave of pain washing over me.

I put my hands to the ground and pushed my face into the pavement with everything pitching and whirling around me. Now I could wallow in my pain; I groaned pathetically. I'd never been hurt before - I had two bullets in my leg, and one in my chest. The massive amounts of agony, along with the shock of what I'd just done, and being shot, was finally managing to put my brain into automatic. Not even the drugs could fight a system shutdown. I shut my eyes against it, everything fading. I had failed. Even after all that blood spilled, Dean was gone, and I would never see him again. My eyes were shut so tightly that something wet rolled down my nose and dripped onto the ground. My last thought before I sank into a shutdown was, _'I am a murderer.'_

* * *

"Get up, quick!"

With a click and a whir, I felt all my systems returning. Everything felt so different. I was looking up into the face of a young African American. In the darkness of the tent around us they looked like the little girl I'd seen get trampled back when Dean and the rebellion had first rescued me, and I started, back-wheeling lightning fast until I strained against the material wall of the structure. My chest heaved. I stared at the person in shock as my heart hammered in my ribcage. It was a boy. Not the child from before, a different one. I forced myself to calm down at look at him. He was handsome, but very young – fourteen, maybe fifteen, dressed in sleek dark clothing that looked specifically tailored for combat. How had I mistaken him for a child? He held up his hands slowly in a show of peace; they were softly pink along his palms and fingertips, something that was very beautiful against his chocolate skin tone. It was the soft warmth of his eyes and not his offer of peace that soothed me. After all, I didn't deserve peace. I just killed over five people.

Remembering all of that at once, I recalled the gunshot wounds I'd received, and my head! My hands flew to my hair. A thick white bandage was taped over the back of my head over hair matted with blood. Someone had patched me up. I looked down at my body. It had healed itself while I was out, sewing all my cuts and burns into new, fresh pink skin resign; even my wrists were flawless. How long had I been here? Weeks? Months? My chest cavity was open. They'd had to manually power me up. I must've been really damaged. As I flicked the button to close it, my ribs smoothed together, and my skin melted together. I reached down and clawed at my jeans. Both gunshot wounds were patched and healing. I touched my breast where the bullet had penetrated. Cleaned and bound as well.

"Look, I don't got a lot of time," the boy said urgently. "The boss wants to keep you under for another few weeks, but I know you're a person. I saw it on the news." He pressed his hands in front of him into the dirt where he was kneeling. "What's your name?"

My eyes lit upon him in the cramped quarters of the tent. "Kas."

Bobbing his head, the kid stared at me. "Ok, ok. Kas. My name is Terrance. We patched you up and all, cause you were in bad shape, but you gotta do me a favor and promise not to hurt anybody here. I need you to promise, Kas."

I just stared. My processing was still hard at work.

"Kas, come on man," Terrance pleaded. "I know you're not a bad dude. Please do this. Please."

All I could manage was a nod. My mouth didn't work until my thoughts were sorted out.

"Ok. Come here, lay back down. He's on his way right now." He held out his hands. "Hurry, but don't worry. It'll be ok, Kas." Dean. I heard Dean in his voice. He sounded very sincere – and why else would he do this if he wasn't? I did as I was told, sliding back onto the bedroll they'd given me, my eyes on the boy as he gently pushed me back.

"Thank you," I said, and swallowed.

"For what?" Terrance asked, grabbing a blanket from the corner and spreading it over me.

"For considering me a person."

Now it was him who stared at me. His face softened into a bit of a smile, and he shrugged it off, like children will. Footsteps from outside made him stiff as a board. He bent over me, pretending to tend to my bandages, and I pressed my lips into a thin line. Who had rescued me from the road? Who were these people? His soft fingers smoothed my wrappings where a piece had uncurled as two buff, pale figures dressed in the same combat outfit as Terrance slid through the door of the tent and took a post at either side of it. They crossed their arms and stared at me through dark sunglasses. All sorts of technology decorated their utility belts, much more than Terrance's – they were similar to the highly trained spies I'd seen in my archives. I curled my hands into fists. I was in trouble now.

Behind the pair, another man walked in. He was lighter than Terrance but his face held a mental darkness that I could not comprehend. His eyes were like soul-sucking black holes. Even his walk glowered. "Terrance," he snapped, and the boy at my side jumped to his feet.

"Yessir?" Terrance barked obediently, at stiff attention.

"Reviving the prisoner was not included in my orders."

"I didn't revive him, Gordon sir, he was awake when I got here."

"Because all the other times you lied to me, I had no idea," Gordon retorted, his words dripping in sarcasm.

"Please, Gordon, sir-"

"Don't," a sharp new voice cut in. From behind Gordon, another handsome male stepped out. He was more caramel than dark chocolate, his nose flat and his afro in light brown ringlets, and instead of a combat suit he wore a red and white sterile suit. He was ungloved and carrying a tablet of some sort with the stylus poised in his hand. His eyes were warm like Terrance's. And although he was a bit shorter than Gordon he held the same authority when he walked. "Are his wounds healing sufficiently?" He questioned casually.

The boy nodded vigorously. "Kas should be fully healed within the week, Nathaniel, sir."

Gordon rolled his eyes at the other male. "Nate, these are my soldiers. Not yours," he threatened.

"And a bang-up leader you are," Nathaniel quipped. "Threatening children and detaining robots like terrorists."

"Just make sure he'll be ready for the exchange," Gordon shot back, "Or else I'll make sure your favorite coffee supply is rancid." Then he stormed out, taking his armed men with him. We all took a moment to make sure he was out of earshot.

"He is unpleasant," I commented, and Nate raised both his eyebrows way, way up.

"The killer speaks!" He sat down at the foot of my bed as Terrance helped me sit up. "Look, we don't have to do this, but we are. You took out a lot of people. How do we know you won't kill us?"

"I promised not to," I replied. "Do what?"

"I know you must've hit your head pretty hard, my friend. We're the North Eastern division of the robotics and artificial intelligence group. We're the black branch of the rebellion."

I gave him a look. "That is racist."

Nate chuckled. "Yeah I don't think that's a problem here. Anyway I'm Nathaniel Dumont, from Delaware. Pleasure to meet you. This here is Terrance Honeycutt, who I believe you've already met. We lived in the same city when the Icarus Incorporated destroyed a factory our parents worked at – one that made high-tech core processors for Androids. It was under government scrutiny. They didn't want to get caught so instead they slaughtered about a thousand single moms and some low class double-shifters." He shook my hand. "Terrance is a good kid - he's with me. Gordon, who was so kind a minute ago, convinced his congregation, minus us, that the reward on your head was worth more than the cause we fight for. And we knows that's bullshit." He sat back, leaning his elbows on his knees. "I'm just a medic, and Terrance is just a cadet, but I've already got a plan to win back the others and reunite you with your regimen."

"H-How? Do you know Sam and Dean?" I pressed. My head was spinning now.

"No. Uh, actually, we know that Garth kid. He was our connection. He was on a job in Maryland, which is where our base was, and we ran into each other. Gordon doesn't make friends easily. It was me and Garth who hit it off. I convinced our almighty leader to let him team up with us and we all did some good work for the cause before he left again." He tossed me a small device, and I opened it with careful hands. "I have his cell number already typed in."


	41. Chapter 40

_40_

_ Hard Earned Finality:_

_ The Other_

The last moments Dean had of consciousness before he gave in and got some sleep, he did some deep thinking. If his people were really his family – and he knew they were – they wouldn't care what he did or who he did it with. Really. They'd lived together, all of them, for ten years or more; it wasn't just guns and smoke holding them together. It was death. Liquor. Life debts. Wondering why so many people had to control who people fucked and why would make your head spin; fear did things to everyone, he of all people knew that very well. It had ruined more relationships in his life than he cared to count, and even if it was tough - even if it started off shitty, even if every bi-curious dude or chick had their Jimmy's – there was a reason for everything. Why even try if you don't think there's some sort of happy ending in it for you?

Dean knew that darkness. He knew the end of that relationship or that job or that family fight that made you think you'd never be right, or good enough for anyone else again. He'd gone through more than most to get to where he was with his life.

And he decided he was done. He'd found his happy ending, and he wasn't going to run away to have it.

"Dean."

It was Kas again. It was always Kas. Even though Sam and Amelia lived close by, they were never really in the dream. No one else ever called him from reading his car magazines in his own home except Kas. He lifted his head and looked over at his lanky lover and smirked a bit, very proud of himself for the current state of the Android's combed hair. He'd managed not to mess it up while he was cleaning.

"Yeah, buddy?" He called back with a gruff sweetness, a smile on his lips.

"Dean? I need you to wake up."

Slowly, Dean lowered his magazine. "I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep."

Around them, the facility's bedroom warped and began to bend. Kas's eyes turned green. His hair grew longer, and lightened considerably. "You've been asleep a long time, brother," Sam said from Kas's lips. "But I need you to come back." Dean stared at him. It was his brother sitting in Kas's place. Sam grinned softly. "It's not like you to keep Kas waiting, Dean."

Dean's eyes flew open. He was staring up into that same grin, on that same brother, whose fat head was blocking the bright lights overhead. "Sam - Sammy!" he exclaimed. "Jesus, it's good to see you!" The pain came flooding back when he tried to move and he released a pained groan. "They yanked my meds, brother." He was still strapped to the table, in that small white room. But the door was busted down and there was a kid in a lab coat who was bro-fisting one of their soldiers. Dean made a mental note to yell at him for the shitty pillow later.

"I know. Don't worry, we've got it handled. There are meds in the truck – you just gotta make it there first."

Loud metal clangs met his ears, and Dean went to look and his arm came free. At first he just stared at it. "Is that mine?" He blurted, and Sam laughed.

"Yeah, doofus. Now get the hell up."

Three more metal clangs followed. Sam lifted under his arms and helped him sit up. Even as slow as he went, the room pitched like a merry-go-round, and Dean sagged against his sibling. He helped Dean off the cot with his limp arm strung across his shoulders. All around them, a fire was brewing. It reeked of it all over this place. He watched his people cheer as he stumbled by, grinning at them as he went, and the flood of joy he felt was only matched by the numbness in his arms and legs. Everybody was ok. He saw people from every regimen here, and a few guys he didn't recognize in uniform. They'd all made it here, just to rescue him?

They navigated the halls, a line of their soldiers leading the way, and the sunlight blinded Dean as they passed from the back door into the world. Sam bent his head. "Can you stand? Someone's here to see you."

"Hell yeah I can," Dean grumbled, wincing against the daylight. "Can I stand?" He scoffed.

Sam suppressed a smile as he released his brother, letting him wobble on his own but sticking close by. Dean struggled to stay upright. The sun was a bigger concern; he could barely see the figure walking towards him. He squinted. It was like watching an angel walk out of heaven. First he saw dark hair. That much he got out of the lens flares. And then he spotted a thick beard streaked with golden brown and ginger - that was nice, he liked the beard. A submachine gun was slung over his shoulder and he looked like a damn good soldier. Then the big, electric blue eyes shone out of a scruffy face, and Dean's heart melted. Battered, bruised, but carrying that same innocent affection on his face, Kas walked right up to him and stopped before they were toe to toe.

Neither of them breathed. Around them soldiers rushed to keep the perimeter safe. Gunfire was heard in the distance. Just like when they met. Behind Dean, the fire in the corporation building raged, heating his backside quite a bit. "Why the fire?" Dean found himself asking.

"You found me here first," Kas explained. "But you had to find something here yourself. I couldn't risk you having an opportunity to lose it again." He shrugged then; a very non-committal, human gesture, as he looked into Dean's eyes. He was so vibrant and solid – like a whole new him.

"I like it. Adds flare." The rebel leader admitted.

"I thought so, too."

Bobbing his head, Dean reached forward and put his palm against Kas's cheek, sliding his fingers along the beard and his sideburns, just like he'd dreamt about every night since they'd been apart - and just seeing the flutter of those big blue eyes reassured him he'd made the right choice. Without another word, he wrapped Kas in his arms and buried his nose into his dark chocolate hair. Kas grabbed him in return and hugged him, crushingly tight, his shoulders shaking. Dean didn't care if it hurt. He didn't care that he could hardly move or even stand. He sank his fingers into Kas's hair and breathed him in and thanked God and every angel he could think of for putting them back together right here, right now.

Then he pulled back just enough to feel hot tears touch his cheek as they slid off Kas's beard and the sweetness in the fusion of their lips seemed to banish all his aches and pains. The love in his heart pierced every bone in his chest and shook his whole body until he was nothing but atoms, mixing with Kas's own and collecting back into one completed soul. The swarm of soldiers around them barely staggered. The world kept turning. The sun kept sinking. And the corporation building kept giving off flames until it burned to the ground – and by then, they were nothing but a dust cloud on the horizon.


	42. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

After a lot of rehabilitation, Dean was finally back on his feet full-time. He demanded a cheeseburger for every meal under the pretense that he hadn't tasted food in months – I didn't have the heart to tell him it was just a month and two weeks that he'd been under, but we did comply, and made sure he had plenty of Cokes to drink. Hearing him hum over his plate again brought life back to the facility. All of us had been so tense, worried about his readjustment, and the trauma of it all, but Dean was tough. He talked to me about it for a long time. But at the end, he always said it set him straight; that he had a lot of shit to sort through in his head, and that had been just enough time to make him realize what he had to do with his life. And he got into the habit of kissing me at breakfast.

"So… how many offspring?"

Dean crossed his legs and put his beer down on the floor. "Wanna run that by me again, big shot?" He replied in disbelief.

I slid my fingers through his hair, shrugging. He tipped his head back until he was looking up at me, resting the back of his head against my lap, and I squeezed his shoulders together with my knees. Since being away from everyone had almost killed him, Dean had suggested we gather more often, and bond. Some sports game centering around a ball and teams echoed from the large television in the packed lounge area. The couch seemed to be consuming me, Benny on my left honing in on the game as he drained his beer, Sam on the right talking to Amelia on his lap.

I put a palm on Dean's forehead as if to check his temperature. "Offspring," I repeated. "Children. How many?"

"I've got enough, thanks."

"Of course not. If you haven't held them since infancy and watched them grow up, you haven't come full circle as a parental unit."

"They were basically infantile when I met them, doesn't that count?" He said this as he nuggied a sixteen year old who shoved him.

"Certainly not."

"I don't want any more teenagers - end of discussion."

"Hey!" That one cry brought up a soft, playful uproar of the teenagers packed together on the sofas and chairs, and the adults, in turn, guffawed and toasted to what Dean had said. They seemed to get too much enjoyment out of that. Dean waved at them until they quieted down.

"I'll shave the beard," Kas threatened.

"You will not. Don't even bluff like that."

"I will. We got a shipment of shaving cream in last night, there is plenty."

"No."

"You can't just say no, my argument as well as my threat continues to be valid."

"Three."

"Three?"

"Three."

"Males, females?"

"All girls. Teenage boys are disgusting."

Across the room, Adam laughed from where he sat alongside Jo with the other older teens. "I represent that," he cackled, and Jo shoved him with a grin on her pretty pink lips.

"Can it!" Dean shot back. "That was implied, princess!"

"One boy. Two girls," I piped.

"This is all a negotiation to you, isn't it?"

"Can we have an African American?" Kas lifted his head to gaze lovingly over at his two darker allies, joining them with a handful of others. They hadn't been able to convert their whole regimen, but they had bonded well with the people in their family. Garth sat by them grinning like a fool over something. "Or another ethnic child? I want to name the boy, too."

"No, you have Terrance. Can't he be your boy kid? Then we can just raise girls. Smokin', smart, kickass girls." Dean smiled warmly up at Kas.

"No."

"No? That's cold. Why no?"

"Three infants. Terrance is being raised by Nathaniel."

"Fine. Fine. Three. Two girls and a boy."

"Good. But… In what order?"

Dean sighed and reached his hands up, taking my face between them. His palms were warm and soft. He smiled, the sight of it upside-down not diminishing its warmth in the least. "I love you, Kas," he hummed, and I kissed his forehead fondly.

"I know," I shrugged.


End file.
